100
by skrybble
Summary: In theory, 100 Tokka oneshots. /#100. Foundation: "So far, there seemed little to know about her. She was a brilliant bender, loud but standoffish, and blind; that was all he had heard. He didn't know she had nightmares."/ Enjoy...
1. Friends

**#32. Friends**

**This isn't a poor-Toph one; there was a tie in votes, but I liked the feel-good vibe (and, also, patronizing Aang). Enjoy...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own ATLA  
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"That's _him_?"

"Who's _who?_"

"Ozai," he explains, remembering a second late like he always does. "He's over on the ground, just kinda… lying there."

She lets out a low whistle. "So Aang… y'know, finished the job?"

"I guess." He sounds doubtful, well aware their bald companion hasn't every killed anything but a bug—and that was an accident to begin with, not to mention that it haunted Aang for days. "Didn't know he had it in him," he adds, without a shred of remorse.

"Does it look like he used earthbending?"

"_Toph!_" exclaims Suki, horrified, but Sokka just squints with genuine interest. "I don't know. He looks… whole."

"Not squished, or anything?"

"Don't think so."

Toph sighs. "I would have done a _much_ better job," she says flippantly, crossing her hands behind her head. "So, we nearly there, or what?"

"Any second," he replies, just as the ship touches ground. A visible tremor runs through Toph at the contact, and her shoulders relax slightly a moment later—he hadn't even realized they were tensed until now.

"_Finally_," she mutters, making her way for the gangplank. Conveniently, it leads right to the little flat where Aang and the ex-Phoenix King are perched and slumped, respectively. "Twinkletoes," she calls evenly, brushing past a surprised soldier with Sokka and Suki in hot pursuit.

"Hi, Toph," Aang replied. He's smiling—that's her first clue that fate has again displayed its ability _not_ to apply to the boy. The second is the deep, low thump of Ozai's heart, vibrating through the earth and up her legs. Her eyes widen slightly, though she says nothing, sure the answer will come up soon enough.

"So, did you… you know?" Suki wonders tentatively from behind her. She points at Ozai, making almost as if to poke him.

"I'm still alive."

His voice is a snarl, as he turns his dull gold eyes to face her. Suki yelps and jumps, and Toph turns her face away to hide a smirk. Funny, how being blind stops her from being caught off guard. "What'd you do?" she asked nonchalantly.

Aang beams. "Took away his bending."

"Where'd you learn _that?_" she demands.

"A giant lion-turtle taught me yesterday."

Toph shakes her head. "You have the craziest adventures when you disappear," she mutters, punching him lightly in the arm. The gesture, her version of affection, makes Aang smile even more widely—his jaw, she observes coolly, is in danger of breaking—but at that moment, something else steals her attention… and really, how could it not? Possibly the best opportunity she'll ever have for some good old-fashioned ridiculing is lying on the ground three feet away. There will _never_ be a chance like this again.

And Sokka appreciates it, too. "Well, _look_ at _you_," he grins, sidling up to the man as best he can with crutches. "Now your firebending's all gone, I guess we should call you the _loser _lord, huh?"

Ozai glares daggers. "I am… the Phoenix King…"

"King of what?" she chimes in, smirking mercilessly from under disheveled bangs. "Only thing you're king of is getting pulverized by a kid." She pauses, and then adds to Aang, "No offense, Twinkletoes."

"None taken," chirps the monk, not at all bothered.

"Where was I? Oh, yeah—sorry to offend you, king of _getting his ass whupped._"

"Yeah," Suki pipes up, "yeah, or how about king of guys who… um…"

The Kyoshi warrior trails off into silence, her three companions waiting expectantly. "Who… don't win?" she finishes lamely, with a hopeful smile.

Toph shakes her head pityingly. "Leaves the insults to us, honey," she replies, with just the slightest edge of scorn coloring her tone. Sokka snickers, and then winces under Suki's glare, and then shoots Toph a conspiratorial, sideways look to tell her that he's still on her side. She nods back, grinning with satisfaction.

So, Suki has Sokka, for now. There's no debating that. But Toph's his partner in crime, the person who fits with him like puzzle pieces, made to click together. She's the one who he laughs_ with_ and not _at_. In the end, Toph is Sokka's best friend, and try as she might, that's something Suki can't ever be.

So—for now—it's enough.

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**Suki is such a loser--the hopeful in me likes to that _that _was the moment Sokka changed his mind...**


	2. Birth

**#65: Birth (which I've altered to mean 'birthday')  
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**Yes, that's right. I'm attempting the Tokka 100.  
No promises will be made. Know, however, that I am notoriously OCD about this kind of thing, so there's a good chance I'll get pretty far...**

**Disclaimer: Ha. I wish.  


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She sat by the window, dwarfed by the huge and ludicrously puffy armchair; her thin, pale fingers, unusually clean, fiddled absentmindedly with a scrap of colored paper. Twilight spilled through a nearby window, honey-gold, dripping across her porcelain hands and the misty-green silk of her dress.

He hesitated at the doorway, knowing that it was stupid to pretend to himself that she hadn't noticed, or to imagine that he could walk away now, leaving her none the wiser. Her unseeing gaze was on the floor, her bangs hiding her face from sight. Just as well, for he feared her eyes; simply because they couldn't see, didn't mean disappointment couldn't shimmer in them, quiet and heartrending.

"Toph?" he called, before he could lose his nerve. One tanned, calloused hand rested on the doorframe, gripping it tightly.

Her eyes didn't move from the ground."You can come in," she said coolly, and so he did, taking a few steps into the room. Awkwardly, he stood, and raised a hand to the back of his head, scratching his neck. He was all too aware of the pile of objects, brand new, near her feet, and the many yards of torn-up paper and ribbon surrounding her.

"You missed the party," she remarked.

"Was it good?"

"No," she deadpanned, and clarified, "My parents planned it."

There was a pause, and then Toph huffed a small sigh. "You'd better have a good reason for not coming," she declared. "I was bored out of my mind."

"I had a reason," he said vaguely.

Toph's gaze was still on the floor, her hands twisting the paper into a little ball. Sokka gulped, his anxiety building as the seconds ticked past, and waited for the spirits' punishment to rain down on him, in the form of an Earthbending master's wrath. Quite suddenly, her fingers stopped twisting. With the crinkling paper gone, the room was utterly silent—except, perhaps, for Sokka's heart, pounding in his ears.

"You didn't get me a present, did you?"

"Of course I did!" he protested, his indignation feeble and hollow. "I got you a cake! But…"

"Momo ate it?" she speculated evenly, raising an eyebrow.

"Something like that," he agreed.

Toph was quiet a long time, and then shook her head. "You came, though."

Sokka half-grinned, and made his way towards her. He seated himself on the arm of her chair, and ruffled her dark hair affectionately.

"Course I did," he replied, sincerity in his tone and reflected in his even heartbeat. "I wouldn't miss your birthday."

His voice was warm and deep, and seemed to wrap around her, warming her from the inside out. Toph felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. She angled her head towards him, so that he could see her smile, and know he was forgiven. After all, she couldn't stay mad at him for long, or at all, if truth be told.

"It's okay," she said. "I don't need a present."

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**R&r please! But seriously, if you've done the 100 (or ever wanted to. Whatever) and have a suggestion for a prompt, I'd love to hear it. I can only be inspired by so much on my own...**

**--skrybble  
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	3. Fleeting

**#96. Fleeting**

**I watched the finale on Friday (_amazing!_ even when it's not the first time) and saw this whole airship part, so I couldn't help writing this. I'm fairly sure it's cliche, but still. For the record, this scene is probably going to be reused at least twice more (not soon, but during my 100), although hopefully not quite as angsty...  
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**Disclaimer****: Don't own AtLA.**

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Above him: the scarlet hull of an airship he'd helped invent.

To either side: soldiers who are waiting for him to try anything funny—but, of course, _trying_ would be as far as he got.

Below him: an altogether too narrow walkway, the waiting drop into the jaws of gravity, and his best friend, dangling in midair.

"Sokka," she says, "Sokka?" A question. She's petrified: he can tell because her voice trembles, and—her being Toph, and all—that isn't how she sounds. Ever.

Of course, he's petrified too. But seeing as she's the one hanging over the aforementioned drop—and he knows she is, because his arm is very nearly being yanked from its socket—he has to be the brave one. With a calculating gaze that's been cultivated over the last year or so, he glances from side to side, and then, he _moves._

His sword flies, knocking the soldier on his left from the walkway. The man's cry fades as he tumbles down, along with the sword Sokka made himself. He swallows regret and whips his boomerang to the side with a flick of his wrist. It hits the second soldier in the head, and he, too, goes spiraling down. Boomerang hurtles away from Sokka, and the sight nearly kills him.

But then his arm doesn't hurt any more.

He stiffens; he rolls over in an instant, ignoring the flash of lightning up his leg... and he's still far too late. She's suspended in midair, screaming: she doesn't know what's happening, or why his hand suddenly isn't holding her safe any more; she doesn't understand. She'll die confused and frightened, let down by the person she loved the most in the world. For a moment, she is a speck of green above a backdrop of red fabric, but then the airship below her explodes, and fire swallows her whole.

And then, silence.

He wishes he could look away, but his gaze is riveted below, to the patch of sky that just stole his best friend from him. She can't just be _gone_. It's so wrong, so... so _undignified_, for her to slip and fall and die in all of five seconds.

But it happens. Then the moment is over, and everything keeps going: Suki saves his life, and then Aang saves the world. But apparently Sokka couldn't even save the thing in his life that was worth the most. What he wouldn't give, to be back in that moment, and to have held on for just a couple seconds more...

And so while everyone else is cheering and crying, he's just standing there, a fragment of time replaying itself behind his eyes. Funny, really, because it's only one moment, but he still knows it'll haunt him for the rest of his life.

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**What did you expect? 'Fleeting' is a hard prompt... :P**


	4. Freeze

**15. Freeze**

**Better known as fluff for fluff's sake. Figured it was only fair, after last chapter...  
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**Disclaimer: ATLA isn't mine.  
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Sokka woke up when something landed on his head.

Contrary to how this sounded—namely, bad—this something was not, in fact, a couple gallons of water, courtesy of Katara, or anything remotely like it. The object in question was tiny, light and airy, and just brushed along his jaw before melting away to nothing. However, Sokka wasn't a Southern Water-tribesman for nothing, and he knew snow when he felt it.

"You guys!" he crowed, jumping to his feet—on top of his bedroll, naturally, for at least a couple inches of white already covered the ground. "You guys, it's snowing!"

Katara and Aang's responses were identical. In almost perfect synchronization, their eyes snapped open, and they leapt up, earsplitting grins on their faces.

"Snow!" exclaimed Aang. "I haven't seen any since the North Pole!" He spun on the spot, staring up at the sky and falling clumps of white with an expression that could only be described as rapture.

"Little late in the year, isn't it?" Katara observed, frowning. "It's already March."

"Who cares?" snorted Sokka. "_It's snow_, Katara! Stop being such a—"

He was cut off—probably for the best—by a shriek. All their heads snapped to the side, to see that the noise had come, unexpectedly, from Toph. Apparently, she had just crawled out of her do-it-yourself tent, two slabs of rock that met snugly above her head, and found out for herself what all the commotion was about.

"_Damn it!_" she exploded viciously, and, much to the admiration of her audience, executed a flying leap in the direction of Appa. She landed precariously on one of his paws and flew forward, latching onto his fur.

"_Sokka!_" she snapped. "There's something on the ground!" Her tone made it clear that this would be his fault until he could prove otherwise. Briefly, she attempted to bury her face in Appa's fur, but then jerked away in disgust—he was covered in little icy crystals as well.

Aang and Katara, upon hearing her address Sokka personally, lost interest, but the older boy came a few steps closer, smirking. "Yes, Toph," he replied dryly. "This would be what us South Pole people call _snow_."

Toph crossed her arms, glaring at where she apparently thought he was. She was a few feet off, but out of tact, he didn't mention it. "Oh good," she muttered darkly. "Snow. Just what I needed right now."

Sokka stared at her incredulously. "You don't like _snow_?"

"Course not," she replied with a scowl. "Most of us don't live in the _South Pole_, stupid. In case you don't know, there's this thing called being _cold._"

"Well, you better get used to it," he replied, glancing up at the sky and sobering slightly. "Looks like it's going to keeps going for at least another few hours, and we can't fly in this."

Toph muttered something unintelligible, and probably explicit, under her breath. Sokka took it as a dismissal, and began to walk away. Aang and Katara had packed most of their things already, but he should probably go help…

A rock hit him in the back of the head.

He staggered forward and then spun on his heel, blustering. Toph stared back, to the best of her ability. She was trying—and failing—to look innocent as she retracted her foot from the ground. His first thought was to be remotely impressed; she had excellent aim for someone sensing through snow.

"I don't think so," she said smugly. "Get over here."

"Why?" he protested, and her grin widened further.

"I can't walk. You're going to carry me."

Sokka's mouth dropped open, and he exclaimed, "_What?_", but she glowered so fiercely that he was silenced. He looked at her for a moment, and it suddenly occurred to him that she was—albeit subtly, for Toph—asking for help. Naturally, she wouldn't say it in so many words, but he felt rather honored nonetheless. Half-smiling, Sokka came a few steps closer, until he was standing near Appa. Turning around, he glanced up at her expectantly.

There was a momentary pause.

"You're going to have to be a little more helpful than that," she said scornfully, waving a hand in front of her face. Sokka flushed, and reached out, grabbing hold of the hand; Toph jumped at the contact, but hid it well. He guided her hand to his shoulder, and then shuffled slightly closer.

Carefully, Toph placed her other hand on his shoulder, and then lifted herself suddenly onto his back, wrapping her legs around his waist. Sokka grunted with effort as he felt her full weight, and she smacked him upside the head. He gave her a reproachful look, but took her hint, and was tactfully silent as he took hold of her legs. The girl rested her head on his shoulder, and then smiled broadly.

"Onward!" she shouted, holding out an imperious finger and pointing ahead. "Forward, Sokka! Mush!"

"I'm not a _dog_," he muttered resentfully, without moving.

"You're right," Toph mused in response. "They're _smarter_. Come on, Sokka. Don't make me hit you."

Sensibly, Sokka decided that while pride was important, it was also important to spare what little of his body didn't already hurt somehow. With an exaggerated sigh, he began to walk, ignoring the giggles from Aang and Katara.

And so it was that he became Toph's personal chauffer. He would have complained out loud to the other two, had she not been right there, and she would have denied enjoying it at all, but in the end, he did rather like her small hands clutching his shoulders—the only dependence she ever showed—and she didn't mind resting her head against his shoulder, feeling their hearts beating together.

But he would twist his head occasionally, glancing back at her, and it eventually became too much for Toph. "_What?_"

"What?"

"You keep looking at me. What's wrong?"

Sokka stuttered; really, he had no excuse—he'd just been looking for the sake of looking. "You… uh, your eyes," he said quickly. "You've got snow on them." It was the first thing that he could think of: the light dusting of snowflakes on her eyelashes, turning them a soft white. In fact, it fit perfectly. Her whole face was a chiaroscuro, a study in contrasts: the pale ivory of her skin and then the misty jade-green of her eyes, juxtaposed by her jet-black hair and flushed cheeks.

Toph made a face. "Eew," she mumbled, and reached up to scrub at her eyes. Sokka shook his head, grabbing her hand.

"No," he interrupted quickly. "No—I mean, it's pretty."

Toph stopped short, unable to muster a response. She could feel scarlet warmth staining her cheeks, and glanced away hurriedly. If asked, she would have blamed it immediately and vehemently on the cold, but inside, as she muttered a response and Sokka resumed walking, she was starting to think that maybe snow wasn't so bad, after all.

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**And what do _you_ think she does when it snows? I like this option.  
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**Ok, question: would you guys rather have a feel-good or sympathy one next time? Both will involve Suki, and both will get posted eventually, but it's good to know what you'd rather see first...**


	5. Moon

**#71. Moon**

**Wow... I wonder what this is about. Most of you already know this (ie, you better know this) but I felt it was necessary ;)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it  
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"Well… it's sort of round… no, I mean, tonight it's round, but sometimes it's kind of a crescent, or sort of _almost_ a circle…"

He trailed off, realizing that while he was waving his hands helplessly and trying to wish the right adjectives to come, her eyes still looked completely blank.

And no wonder. _Blanker than usual_, he quickly added to himself. Though it was irrational, he sometimes got the strange feeling Toph could read minds, and didn't feel like giving her something else to berate him about.

"It's white," he started again. "And it's got all these craters on it… like… I don't know, acne or something. I guess. And it glows."

The blank look turned to a scowl. Sokka braced himself, but the punch to his forearm still made him flinch and mumble, "Owww…"

"Spirits," she grumbled. "You said it was a full moon. I wanted to know what it looked like, was all." Her small scowl faded slightly, eyes unfocused but still gleaming in the silvery light, until she looked suitably rueful. He slumped in shame, hands dropping to his lap.

"Sorry," he said, hanging his head and feeling useless. "I'm not good at describing. You should ask Iroh. Or Katara," he added, as it occurred to him. "Bet she could give you a lecture on it. Throw in a little spiel about hope, if you want."

"Like hell I do," Toph muttered. There was a momentary silence, where the _whoosh _of Ember Island's surf raced to fill the air, and then she flopped back onto the grass with a small _thud_, arms behind her head forming a makeshift pillow. Her eyes stared upwards, directed at if not seeing the millions of stars.

"Start over," she commanded. "Only without color. Or light."

Sokka drooped to the grass beside her with all the brightness of a wilting flower, biting his lip. "I don't know how…" he began feebly, but then a spark lit in his eyes, inspiration bringing a grin to his lips.

"I'm going to tell you a different way," he announced. "I'm going to tell you the story of the moon spirit."

Toph perked up, tilting her head towards him for better hearing. "I've probably heard it," she said, feigning disinterest.

Adamantly, he shook his head. "Not this version," he assured her, shifting slightly until he was comfortable. A deep breath rushed past his lips, in and out, and when he spoke again, his voice was different somehow. Toph struggled to describe it, and was only able to think of the word _reminiscent_ a while after, when it wasn't relevant any more.

"Once upon a time," Sokka said, reminiscently, "a… a while ago—"

Toph snorted. "A while?" she scoffed, shaking her head. "Be more specific. How about 'a long time ago'?"

"Not that long, actually," he contradicted, surprising her with the unexpected sadness in his voice. "So… yeah. Once upon a time, not that long ago, a princess was born in the Northern Water Tribe. Her name was Yue."

Toph held a respectful silence, although her brow furrowed. She was sure she'd heard that name before from someone, but couldn't remember where.

"Yue was her parents' only child, and they loved her more than anything. But only a little while after she was born, the princess fell very sick. Her parents tried everything, but it was no good. Yue was dying."

_Obviously, she doesn't_, Toph concluded, but held her tongue. Something indefinable told her that maybe, this was worth listening to.

"So one night, when her father was desperate, he took her to the spirit oasis of the Northern Tribe, hidden deep within the city's walls. In the oasis was a pool of water—heated by all this spiritual energy, right—and in the water swam two koi fish. Their names were Tui and La: push and pull. They were the ocean and moon spirits' physical forms."

"Fish. How very glamorous."

"Be quiet. This is a good part." He paused a moment, regaining his train of thought, and then continued. "The chief lowered his daughter into the pool of water, and prayed to the moon spirit, and to his amazement, his prayer was fulfilled. Yue's fever broke at that moment, and because she had been touched by the moon spirit, her hair turned from dark brown to white."

Toph made a harrumphing noise that might have been '_no colors_'.

"It's _important_," Sokka insisted tetchily. "So Yue had been saved, but that wasn't the end of it. Many years later, when Yue was a young woman, her tribe was attacked by the Fire Nation." Anger colored his words as he spoke, and he suspected Toph noticed, but to his gratitude, the girl made no comment.

"The firebenders were led by a crafty, underhanded, evil…" He stopped himself with difficulty. "A crafty admiral, who knew that the waterbenders' power came from the moon. He figured that if he could kill the moon spirit, then they would be helpless against him. He was right, but he didn't realize that killing a spirit is a lot bigger than that. It would mess up the whole world, and the balance, and all that. You know, all that stuff Aang's always worried about.

"But anyway. A few people—good guys—had followed him to the oasis: a waterbender, an airbender, a… a wise old man, the princess Yue, and a warrior." He tried to add the last part, the _warrior_ part, as casually as possible. "They warned him about the consequences, but the admiral didn't listen. He attacked Tui, setting her on fire, and the moon went out.

"The good guys attacked him after that, and got rid of him, but they realized it was too late. La was as good as dead. That was when the wise old man noticed Yue's hair—see? Important—and mentioned she was touched by Tui. Yue realized that in return for her life when she was a baby, she had to give something back. The moon spirit had given her life, and she had to return it now."

Sokka stopped for just a moment, for his voice had been dangerously close to breaking. Toph was utterly silent beside him, waiting in more anticipation than she would ever admit.

"The warrior, who was in love with her, begged her not to, but Yue knew it was her fate. She took the fish in her hands and closed her eyes.

"Everyone knew it had worked when the moon started to glow again. Yue collapsed, and the fish jumped back into the water to rejoin La. Push and pull were working in harmony again. Meanwhile, the warrior caught Yue as she fell, and to his shock, she began to glow as she lay in his arms. Slowly, she lifted into the air, shining so brightly that they almost couldn't look at her.

"She spoke only to the warrior, who was watching her in amazement. 'Goodbye, So—Goodbye,' she said," Sokka quoted, catching himself mid-word. There was no chance of him misquoting her. The words Yue had spoken were etched in his memory, and he knew that if he forgot everything in his old age, he would still remember this moment for all eternity. "'I will always be with you.' She bent down to kiss him, and then, as their lips touched, she vanished.

"The waterbenders, with their power back, drove off the Fire Nation. Yue's death had saved them all. But although the warrior was heartbroken at the loss of Yue, he knew his love hadn't left him completely. Every night, he watched the moon rise, and he knew that Yue was still watching over her tribe and her love."

The last words hung in the air, echoing all the way up to the stars. Sokka stared up at the giant moon occupying most of the sky. _I love you._

"Wow," Toph murmured, reluctantly impressed. "That was… I mean, that was okay. For you."

"For _me_? And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

She smirked. "Surprisingly good," she clarified, her eyes gleaming with humor at his expense. "But really, though." Her voice was abruptly sincere. "It wasn't bad. You know someone in it or something?"

"Yeah," he agreed elusively. "Something like that."

Toph nodded, gazing up at the sky. She yawned, her mouth opening pink and catlike, and then sighed.

"I wish I could see her," she said drowsily. "Yue, I mean. She must be beautiful." Tiredness stopped her from remembering that 'beautiful' wasn't a word she said, ever.

Sokka smiled. "She is," he replied, and Toph, oblivious, was sure he only meant the obvious. They lay in silence, the hush of waves in the background and the stars twinkling above them, diamonds set glittering in a sea of silk.

And then Toph let out a little snore, and rolled over, curling on her side. Sokka grinned as he looked at her; his eyes lingered on her small, pale face for a moment, before moving to the moon above. It was—no, _she_ was gorgeous tonight. He stared upwards, and was sure that on some metaphysical level somewhere, their eyes were meeting. After all, Yue _was_ watching over her love.

But what was more, Sokka was positive that as she watched tonight, she was smiling that gentle smile of hers: genuinely happy because he was, too. Of course she was too forgiving to feel replaced, too kind to be anything but pleased. Sokka felt her silent acceptance—approval, even, he dared hope—and nodded gratefully at the sky.

"Thanks," he murmured, to the moon's unspoken words. "I thought you'd like her."

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**I hope that was clear: Sokka loves Toph, Yue knows Sokka loves Toph and is okay with it. Aww.  
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	6. Paint

**First, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed. Nothing makes me write faster, not even coffee. Second, what you (or, at least, whoever didn't review) want to see. _Oblivious_ is the theme of the day, I guess (read on for that to make sense):

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Disclaimer: Don't own AtLA, and also, have to credit Eoin Colfer for the take on 'over his head' (what I have is a modification of his line)  


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**#59. Paint**

He swirled his brush around, mostly because it made him feel professional, and then withdrew it from the ink, wiping away the excess liquid on the bottle's rim. With the utmost care, hand poised, he surveyed his painting; brow furrowed, his bright blue gaze brushed over the paper and then flicked up to compare it to the city. _Not bad_, he thought, nodding with satisfaction. It was a far cry from Iroh, who—wouldn't you know it—had turned out to be the artistic type, but, Sokka decided, still pretty damn good for him.

Behind him, Toph meandered onto the balcony, changing course as she sensed him. Her bare feet padded softly on the smooth white stone. "Painting?" she wondered aloud, utterly aloof.

Sokka was unfazed. "I'm nearly done," he said proudly, gesturing to the picture. "What do you think?"

Toph's eyebrows arched slightly, a very dangerous expression that, with his back to her, he didn't see. "What do I _think?_" she echoed.

"Yeah. You know, about my painting. Is it good?"

Foggy jade eyes flashed in a porcelain face, incredulous, but she said nothing as she paced closer. Purposefully, she situated herself behind his shoulder, craning her neck in exaggerated study. "Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully, as he waited, dabbing hastily at a couple more patches. To his surprise, however, Toph nodded. "You're a born artist," she said, the sarcasm sending up a slight breeze as it flew over his head.

Sokka beamed, overjoyed at the unexpected compliment. "Thank you!" he exclaimed with delight, attacking the skyline with renewed vigor. "Can you tell Katara that? She doesn't like my stuff, but I knew it was just because she didn't have any taste. You know her; she thinks that she knows everythi…"

His voice trailed off for three reasons. The first was that Toph had left the Jasmine Dragon's balcony. The second was that she had neglected to touch up the bruise on his forearm, which, if she wasn't careful, might heal one of these days. The third was that something very important concerning her ability as an art critic had just occurred to him.

The sarcasm boomeranged and, this time, whacked him upside the head.

"Damn it," he muttered, feeling mostly stupid and, even more soberingly, rather disappointed—it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about his art.

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**Poor Sokka. Only not really... :P**


	7. Traditions

**#24. Traditions**

**...Because Toph and Sokka have an awfully good one.

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Disclaimer: I don't own AtLA

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Toph blinked, and the makeup on her eyelashes brushed against her cheek, light as a butterfly and incredibly irritating. She ached to simply give up and scrub at her face, but according to everyone else, that made one look like Momo. It wasn't that that idea bothered her—she could look like a cabbage slug for all she cared—but, on the other hand, her mother was staring at her, and judging from the vibrations Toph was getting, her eye seemed to be twitching. Likewise, Lao was talking, and he sounded like he meant business. _Welcome to our home_ was over and done with, and _why don't you marry my precious daughter?_ had rapidly taken its place.

_I love you too, Dad._

She yawned pointedly, and the unstoppable hot air machine that was Lao Bei Fong ground to a halt. Before, she would have flashed an innocent little smile—I'm blind, what could _I_ possibly do?—but no longer. Now she was the legendary Toph Bei Fong, world's greatest earthbender, and there wasn't a person in the world who could tell her what to do…

Well, no one in her family, anyway.

So she raised her eyebrows—_yes, Dad, you're boring; the truth hurts, huh?_—and leaned back in her chair. _Carry on._

He did. Remarkably quickly. The speech raced to a halt, and Lao weakly declared that they ought to go enjoy the party. Poppy sat there, smiling mostly because she didn't know what else to do. Reluctantly, Toph got to her feet, swallowing a sigh and taking the hand of a first brave suitor with a resigned nod. As she laid a hand on the boy's arm, letting him guide her and swallowing her indignity, she felt Poppy smile. Good; at least someone was happy.

Compared to her mood after an hour, however, she might as well have been positively sunny when she began. The many feet spinning and whirling across the ballroom were giving her a headache, the Tsungi horn player was flat, and she was bored out of her mind. Without offering an excuse, she began to extract herself from the arms of her newest dance partner, whose hands, starting around her waist, had been drifting steadily lower.

"Wha—?" he wondered in surprise as she turned and unexpectedly began to make her way away.

"I'm thirsty," Toph lied imperially, without looking at him.

"Oh… oh, I'll get you a drink," he offered, obviously considering either the benefits of pleasing the Bei Fongs or of Toph, post-alcohol. Either way, he would have none of them. The moment he darted into the crowds, narrowly avoiding a couple who waltzed by with a steamroller's momentum, she was gone.

Out the main door, through dark rooms that didn't bother her at all. As she made her way further and further from the party, the music grew softer and softer, and her small footsteps began to echo through the massive halls, bouncing off arching ceilings. Her dress brushed against the cold marble floors, sending up a small rustle, but she was the only one who heard it. A side door of the house creaked open, a small, pale figure appearing from the darkness within. She stomped once, checking that the coast was clear, and then hurried out into the gardens.

He was waiting at the gates.

"You're early."

"Couldn't stand it," she muttered, enough of an explanation for both of them. Her small fists closed around the elaborate metalwork, wrenching it aside. She stepped through her newly-made hole, and then reached back. Her metalbending had improved drastically, and the curling loops of metal rewove themselves, growing back like vines. Sokka deliberately avoided being impressed, and also worked on keeping his eyes away from her in her dress. Lately, that was more and more of a problem… but, true to form, he would deal with that bridge when he came to it.

When she was done, she hurried over to him, reaching to wrap her arms around his neck. It wasn't a very Toph-like gesture, but he'd been away for a month on a diplomacy meeting, and she had missed him. Sokka felt the same, although he was equally unlikely to admit it. Throwing caution to the winds, however, he pecked her on the cheek as he hugged her back. It didn't feel awkward.

She pulled back after a moment—_blushing? Dare he hope?_ "It was that bad?" he wondered, his arm remaining around her as they set off along the road.

"Yep. Full of perverts," Toph added, after a pause. Sokka's hand tightened protectively around her waist, a fact that neither of them missed. "It sucked."

They meandered along the side of the road, him in street clothes and her in silk, looking for all the world like a young couple. As they turned the corner, Toph murmured, "I wish you could still come to the parties. It was more fun with you there."

A grin traced his lips at the compliment, especially because their definition of _fun_ differed significantly from most socialites'. "Your parents haven't quite forgiven me," he reminded her, not quite remorseful.

She made a scornful little noise, shaking her head. "There's nothing to forgive. They can throw a party like that, then they can pay for damages."

"I still don't think I'm invited."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically, and angled her face towards him to make sure he could see. "Gatecrash," she suggested, utterly serious.

"Even worse idea," he replied with equal solemnity. "I wouldn't want to hurt the security guards."

This time, her scoff was louder.

"Besides, this works fine," he added quickly. "It's easy for you to ditch, right?"

She shrugged, her bare shoulder brushing his arm as they walked. For a moment, goosebumps prickled on his skin, having nothing to do with either the cold or the fact that she had nudged his permanent bruise. "It works," she conceded.

It had also been working for the past several months, the only thing that made the Bei Fong's parties remotely bearable. After a couple hours (and often less), Toph would sneak away; quietly, she would make her way out back and to her best friend, in time to get some compensation for the torture she'd just been put through. Ever since Sokka's decidedly last invitation from Lao to anything—_ever_—it had simply been what they did instead of going to a party.

"So do we go to the teashop now?"

"It's not a patch on Iroh," she declared.

"We'll elope to Ba Sing Se next time," he promised. "For now, the teashop."

Toph smiled at the assurance, and the words 'next time', because that, after all, was the most important part of all. "Sounds like a plan," she agreed, just like always, and just like always, they made their way through Gaoling, finding hell to raise wherever they could.

After all, it was a tradition.

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**The best kind of tradition. R&r, as always!**


	8. Trials

**#26. Trials**

**The misfits go through far too much. Technically, much more of a Toko friendship, but it has mentions of Tokka. And (yes, I know, feel free to scream at me) it _does_ have Zutara, but *and it's a big _but_* it's one-sided. Utterly so. That actually seems believable to me: I can't picture Katara suddenly falling for Zuko, but I _can_ picture Zuko abandoning Mai for a blue-eyed, headstrong, passionate waterbender. And then angsting over it. Like so.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own AtLA  
**

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"So, you and Sokka, huh?"

"What?" Toph demanded, stiffening as if it had been electricity, and not just a few knowing words, that Zuko had prodded her with. "What do you mean, me and Sokka?"

The firebender glanced over, raising an eyebrow fractionally. The wind, breezing from the chasm near them, stirred his dark hair across his face. "You like him," he said calmly, the words allowing no space for argument.

And true to form, Toph argued anyway. "Course I do," she replied, with feigned calm. "He's my best friend."

"That's not what I meant," Zuko said quietly, knowingly.

"Well, what _did_ you mean?" she asked, feeling her own heart speeding up, wondering how people possibly put up with her when she could see a lie in instants. "Or are you just busy channeling your uncle?"

"You know what I mean," he snapped, anger flaring the moment Iroh was brought up. His memories of the old man—the way he'd _treated_ the man who was more of a father than Ozai—was still his greatest shame. It had already slipped his mind that he had begun the conversation in the first place, and all that was left was irritation at this difficult little girl, who certainly didn't pull any punches.

"What are you," Toph demanded, crossing her arms, "my freaking psychiatrist? What's wrong with being friends, Sparky? Except," she added viciously, "I guess you wouldn't know, because you don't have any."

A low blow, and one Toph regretted the instant it left her mouth. Zuko's jaw went tight, and his heart sped in anger. For a split second, heat flared in his open hand, what could only be fire blazing wild and angry from his fingertips. Toph automatically flinched away, toes curling with the sharp, raw memory of burnt-flesh blindness, but then he clenched his fist shut, and it was gone just as quickly. She felt a vague sort of respect at that kind of control. "You're an awful liar," he said slowly, "and you're angry because I'm right."

"You're right?" she scoffed. "And what makes you so damn sure?"

Zuko glanced over at her coolly. "I've got eyes, don't I?"

"La-di-freaking-da," she snapped, her voice dripping acid.

In an instant, the relaxed upper hand he'd thought he had crumbled under his fingers. His face grew hot at the mistake, and he lowered his head. "Sorry."

"Damn right you are," she agreed indignantly. "Anyway, I'm not that stupid, okay? He likes Suki; I'm sure you've seen the two of them hooking up."

It was impressive how casual she sounded. Only the smallest trace of anger coiled through her tone like a wisp of smoke, barely noticeable to all but those who were raised with fire. Zuko glanced at the girl, seeing her clenched jaw, and the frustration blazing in her face at his perception. "It doesn't have anything to do with being stupid," he murmured.

For a moment, silence followed his words—_was _that_ something Uncle would say_, Zuko wondered, _or did I screw up again… spirits, she's probably going to attack me—_but then Toph exhaled sharply, breaking the silence, and flopped back against the white stone, closing her eyes. Her small fist rose and pounded against the ground, spreading a little patchwork of cracks across the temple's floor. "It's seriously _that_ obvious?" she wondered angrily, flinging her arms wide. "_That _obvious? Dammit, he must think I'm an idiot… and Suki! I bet she laughs at me, huh? Spirits, I'm such a loser."

"It's not obvious," Zuko said quickly, surprised at her self-deprecating reaction. More to the point, Sokka wouldn't have noticed, even if it _was_, but he didn't think that was the right thing to say.

"Idiot," she moaned furiously, covering her face with her hands.

"You're not an idiot," he said adamantly, with conviction that didn't seem wholly focused on Toph.

Toph's hands retreated slowly from her face. "No," she contradicted, with sudden composure, crossing her hands behind her head, "it is stupid to like someone like that. But I guess you'd know, anyway."

Zuko's good eye snapped open, and he whirled to face Toph. "_What?_" he hissed in shock.

The earthbender closed her eyes leisurely, back in control. "I was _referring_ to Katara. Kind of thought it was obvious."

"I don't _like _Katara!" he exclaimed, and then froze as, in the air temple's soaring silence, his voice suddenly seemed very loud. "What in Agni's name gave you that idea?" he whispered furiously.

"I got feet, don't I?" she mocked.

"And you can _tell?_ I mean, if there was anything to see. Which there's not," he amended hastily, unable to look at her altogether too knowing expression.

"Tell? Spirits, Zuko, it's like a soap opera," she replied. "You should probably turn your life into a musical, when this is all over."

Again, the temple's silence presented itself, almost stifling, and Toph heard the unintended cruelty of her own words. She turned her head away, biting her lip. "Sorry," she mumbled. "It sucks for you. To like her, I mean."

"She likes Aang," he muttered. "The Avatar. The _bald_ kid."

"I heard you used to be bald."

"I had _some_ hair!" he protested.

"And you've got a hell of a lot now," she threw in observationally.

Self-conscious, Zuko reached up to touch his head. He _liked_ his hair: liked how it made him a new person, liked how it was different, liked how it fell to cover the scar some of the time. He stared out into the fog of the chasm, knowing the conversation wasn't over yet.

A good assumption, for it was right. "How long have you liked her?" asked Toph, with helpless curiosity.

"A while," he replied, and after a moment, "Ba Sing Se, I guess. In the crystal cave."

_Damn_, thought Toph irritably, who had been trying for months to learn what exactly had happened down there. "What about Sokka?" Zuko asked, jerked her train of thought astray.

She flushed red, and admitted after a moment, "Since I met him."

"And he's liked Suki…?"

"For_ever_," she replied with disdain. There was a slight pause, and then Toph heaved a sigh. "It's kind of unfair."

_Unfair_. It seemed like a whiny word, a bratty word, but at the same time, Zuko realized, it was just right. This was unfair, nothing more and nothing less. "Yeah," he agreed. "It is."

"I mean, they _clearly_ like other people," she said bitterly.

"So we like them, but they don't even know."

"_Won't _ever know." Toph shook her head at the injustice, sitting back onto her hand. "We're such losers," she observed unhappily. Zuko agreed with a tired nod, glancing over at the girl and not missing the newfound kinship they were both feeling, which hung, uncertain, in the air. Toph sat up, toying with her space rock as her eyes gazed out into the canyon. "I think it's probably really cliché," she declared matter-of-factly. "Liking your best friend, and all."

"We're misfits," Zuko shrugged, with deep-rooted apathy. "Not clichés."

"Clichés get happy endings," Toph muttered. "I'd rather be a cliché than a loser."

"Sometimes—" Zuko began.

"Toph!" called a voice, with the effect of a rock hurled at glass. In this case, however, it was the silence, and their quiet bond, that shattered on impact. "Toph, you'll never believe what I found in the temple!"

She was on her feet by the second time her voice sliced the air, and already moving towards him by the time he finished. An apologetic wave and a mumbled '_sorry_' were tossed, unaccompanied by a backwards glance, at Zuko. He didn't find himself overly offended. If Katara had been the one to call, after all, he would have come running too.

_Sometimes,_ he told himself, watching her hurry away while trying to pretend she wasn't, _misfits get happy endings too._

It wasn't always true.

However—and now for her sake, almost more than his own—he hoped it was.

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**You know you hope so too. You wouldn't be a Tokka fan if you didn't. R&r, as always (and happy late Thanksgiving, to all the other Americans)**

**--skrybble  
**


	9. Stone

**#12. Stone  
**

**I've passed my cuteness quota *read: I'm tired and angsty, and I hate exam week* Wanted to get this up, b/c I kind of like it. Your opinion is your own...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own AtLA.  
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Most blind people have well-developed hearing. Basic fact. Heightened other senses overcompensate for the one you're missing. Besides, the blind who haven't learned from badgermoles need some way to figure out whether they're looking the right way when they talk to people.

Toph sees. Easily; effortlessly. Her vision is practically flawless. But that doesn't mean that she doesn't like to sense with something other than her feet once in a while.

Stubbly grass, the tenacious kind nursed on saltwater, tickles her neck, as she lies by the cliff's edge. The comfortable warmth tells her that the sun must be shining—she registers this, but deems it irrelevant, as she generally doesn't concern herself with things in the sky. She is perfectly still, a splotch of china skin and red Fire Nation silk against the Ember Island foliage.

She is listening.

The waves are mesmerizing. They always suck back, gathering their forces (_sssh_), and then crescendo, rising in a crest of foam and power (_hiss whoosh chaos_), to smash against the rock (_crash slap BOOM and then collapse, burbling away_). A little shudder of pleasure goes through Toph at every collision. The slap of the waves thrust its way straight into her chest, its impact throwing everything, down to the last blade of sea grass, into perfect clarity for an instant. She is hearing a heartbeat. The earth has absorbed her, and she needs think of nothing—_nothing and that _means_ nothing, not even him or his girlfriend, because it doesn't matter and she doesn't care anyway—_but the constant rhythm of the ocean.

She feels the rock, too, in that lucid moment. It is shaped, twisted, and she seizes every instant to study it, fascinated. The waves have molded it over centuries, sculpted it with foam-tipped fingers. The rock hasn't crumbled, but it has changed, softened, _harmonized_ to the waves and their ever-present influence. It's incredible, and she admits it—with no one around, no one to intimidate and nothing to prove, she can allow herself to abandon her usual apathy for a moment. This is something she's never really appreciated before.

Water shaping earth…

And _suddenly…_

The metaphor strikes her like lightning, in a spark of neurons, and she chokes on a breath. _Damn_, she thinks, because of how _fitting _it is, how disgustingly _ironic_. Hardened, toughened rock, slowly weakened by water.

And this earth? It's _changed_, slowly but surely, to make room for this new presence. There is something stronger than rock, something that could break down her iron defenses and leave her helpless, and never even know what it's done.

And the thing is, he _is_, that's exactly what he's doing; she can see it, and it terrifies her, more than Azula or the Fire Nation or all the other things that she probably _should_ be scared of. He doesn't just find the chink in her armor; he's rapidly _becoming_ the chink in her armor, and she doesn't know what do. Caring about someone—love, she would even say, but she's always been a cynic—is far more complicated than it ought to be.

She scrambles to her feet and storms away from the cliff, as if there were someone to impress, trying to ignore the lesson that nature wants to teach her. _When two forces clash, _say those goddamn rocks, _something has to give_.

And something is giving. Toph knows that. She's the one giving, shifting, metamorphosizing.

She's becoming someone new. No—she _is_ someone new now, and it's shocking. She was strong, the strong_est_, but it wasn't a greater power that did her in. It never took a blow to break down her walls. It just took the water, lapping with its steady determination, to reshape Toph Bei Fong into someone new—someone who, like it or not, she can't help being.

So she cares. And it's a weakness. That's not the scary thing.

The _scary_ thing is how much he's obviously changed her already, because she still isn't sorry.

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**Angst... well, it can't be _all_ fluff. I think 100 cotten candy oneshots would probably dissolve my brain. Next update is written and will be up soon!**


	10. Fish

**#93. Fish**

**Hi, everyone! Thanks for all the reviews, and so here's your present (and believe me, this is the _only_ gift I've actually got yet...) This was inspired by Calvin and Hobbes--best cartoon ever--but seriously must have been _made_ for Tokka ;)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own AtLA

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"Have you caught anything yet?"

She sprawled lazily on the riverbank beside him, impossibly obnoxious. Her arms were folded calmly behind her head, and she gazed directly up at the glaringly sunny sky. Sokka flinched just to look at her, especially when it always took him a moment to remember that sun in her eyes wouldn't bother her at all.

"Stupid question," she observed leisurely, when he didn't answer, instead making a feeble attempt to ignore her. "If you had, you'd be having a seizure right about now, wouldn't you?"

"Ssh," he said lamely. "You'll scare off the fish."

"Ah, yes. The multitude of fish, that are miraculously avoiding your hook."

"If _you_ weren't talking so much, maybe I would have caught something."

Toph broke into a loud, suspiciously exaggerated coughing fit, covering a grin with her sleeve. Sokka scowled in her general direction. "You don't have to be a smartass," he muttered. "I'm hungry too, you know. I'm sure I can catch a fish soon. Just help me out a little, okay?"

Something he had said had caught her interest, for no sarcastic retort followed his words. Beside him, Toph rolled over and sat up onto her elbows, a strangely thoughtful grin on her face.

"Help you out?"

"Yeah. You know. Figure it out."

Slowly, Toph nodded. "Sure, Snoozles," she murmured. At that moment, in hindsight, Sokka really ought to have been paying attention. If he had, he might have seen her widening smirk, or the very worrying glint in her eyes. Even without looking at her, he should have at least picked up on the alarming eagerness in her voice.

But something moved in the water at that moment, that was probably a wave and, with a little faith, could be made to look like a fish, and he was distracted. "It's all about the patience," he explained assuredly, unaware that she wasn't listening. "You've got to be cool, cool and calm. No real fisherman goes _to_ the fish. All real masters know that you wait, and the _fish_ comes to _you_…!"

Slowly, Toph straightened and edged away.

Sokka sat statue-still and oblivious, watching the river ooze by and itching with anticipation. The smallest edge of tongue poking through his teeth stood proof to the extent of his focus. So intense was his concentration, in fact, that he didn't even notice the lack of his best friend for several minutes.

When he finally did, however, his face fell immediately. Either Toph was playing a joke on him, or she was really in trouble. Both scenarios were bad, of course, but he always assumed the latter: after all, she was younger than him, and a girl, _and_ blind, which meant that while _he_ knew she was perfectly terrifying, the eyes of the world were a little less forgiving.

His heart jumped march-tempo against his ribcage as he peered anxiously along the riverbank. "_Toph?_"

And then the water exploded.

A boulder, five feet wide all around, came flying through the air, landing in the middle of the river with the biggest splash Sokka had ever seen—and that was in spite of the fact that he lived with Katara. Water rose like a tsunami, at first to engulf him—_Spirits, I'm too young to die!—_but then just to toss him backwards, leaving him wet and spluttering on the back.

_Thud._

Then again: _thud._

And again.

Things were hitting the ground.

Non-watery things.

Dazed, he opened his eyes. A fish hit him in the face.

Sokka shrieked and scrambled away, before staring around. What looked like millions of fish spangled the soaked earth, flopping and twitching madly. The river, meanwhile, was distinctly shallower. In the middle of it all stood Toph: straight-faced, miraculously dry, and holding a struggling fish.

"Got one," she said solemnly.

And because it_ had_ been a good idea—just carried out in a nerve-wracking way—and because technically, he had asked her to help, Sokka couldn't argue. So he cooked the fish, and mumbled something that wasn't actually an agreement when she mentioned that he should bring her fishing _every_ time, because that had made things go a hell of a lot quicker.

And secretly, he knew he would take her fishing again, because—even though, of course, he'd never tell her—despite everything, it was always a lot more fun than fishing on his own.

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**'Tis the season and all. Happy holidays, everyone!**


	11. Vision

**#9. Vision**

**Okay, thirty-second context: so Toph is in the Spirit World (and I don't know how she got there) because Sokka's been captured by Ko the Face Stealer (again, don't know why, but the same thing happened with Hei Bei, right? Maybe Sokka's good at annoying those things) and she's planning to save him (somehow. Like she needs a plan.) I'll leave friends vs. friends w/ benefits to your discretion...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own AtLA

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The earth was different here.

It shifted, it melted, it reformed itself like clay a thousand times over. She felt it twist beneath her calloused feet, its own entity, and it frightened her more than she would ever admit. This place was alive. It breathed, moved, shaped itself around her, appraising her but saying nothing. She couldn't see it, but it could see her.

Her footsteps didn't send out vibrations. They sent out ripples, distorting the world and bringing it back vague and hazy. One moment she saw trees around her, the next a marsh, the next a forest of bamboo, dark shapes moving within it that she had no time to place.

_Damn it, this is Aang's job_.

But she'd refused to let anyone else do it. Sokka was her best friend, the only person she couldn't live without, and she had to save him herself. Toph knew she would never forgive anyone if something went wrong, and that guilt wasn't something she would condemn her friends with. Annoying Toph was one thing. Being the person fully responsible for Toph's loss of the person she cared about most... now, _that_ was something that people should be afraid of.

Technically, of course, she would never forgive herself either if she couldn't get him back. But considering the job, she was quite possibly the best person to be here anyway.

Her feet touched stone suddenly, unnaturally cool beneath her feet. A wind blew at her from the front, carrying with it a musty, ancient smell. This was the scent of a creature as old as time itself, and that meant she was in the right place. She took another step, determined, and then stiffened.

A monkey was perched on a rock outside the cave. That wasn't what scared her. It was moving frantically, scrabbling at its face with desperate, frightened hands. Toph lifted her foot and stomped down, hard, forcing the world to reform into clarity for an instant.

She gasped.

The monkey had no face. Skin stretched, pure and blank, over where eyes, mouth, a _soul_ should have been. Its pulse raced with primal terror, and she felt its heartrending desire to scream in fear, to cry out, and yet it _couldn't_. Clawed fingertips ripped at the skin, trying to scratch a face out of nothingness.

_No._ But it couldn't have happened to him, too. Surely he was stronger._ Please,_ she thought. The word tasted strange in her mind; she wasn't used to begging._ He has to be... no, he _must_ be stronger._

She stood, face bone-pale, hair stirring lightly in a breeze. Mint-green eyes stared, unseeing, at the cave before her. Toph took a deep breath, and let it out again through her nose. Her blood was pounding hot and loud in her ears, telling her to stop standing and _do_ something. Her jaw clenched, set with resolve.

_You think you're scary? Just try to take _**my** _face._

She stepped forward.

The ground grew colder every time her feet touched it. The stench of decay saturated the air and wormed its way under her skin like a parasite, but her pace—_right, left, right, left_—never slowed. Toph walked into the darkness she couldn't see, her face giving nothing away.

She felt him before she saw him. A clicking of a thousand feet, the dry whisper of insect limbs. He scuttled above her head, twisting and knotting, and then…

"Come out, Ko," she said. It didn't need to be loud.

He dove, stopping barely inches from her. He was grotesque, with a human face she couldn't define protruding from gaping lips, but she kept her face blank.

"_I don't know you_," he observed, in a voice that clicked and rustled and didn't quite manage to bury the raw power hidden in it. "_Why are you here, little girl? What do you want from Ko?_"

"I want," Toph said firmly, "my friend back."

"_Your friend?_" Ko let out a laugh that was the rustle of dead leaves. "_And what do you think you will do? Do you plan to take him from me?_"

"Where is he?"

Ko was off: curling and winding through his cave, slipping fluidly from wall to wall. To him, it seemed, gravity was simply something others worried about. "_He's here, somewhere,_" he said calmly. "_He'll be so pleased. He was sure you would come. He told me, you see. Over and over again, as he waited. But you didn't come, did you?_"

Aang's words barreled through her mind like a locomotive. _Time passes differently in the Spirit World…_

"How long have you had him?"

Towards the ground, Ko tumbled, his body unfurling behind him in his descent, but for all his heedlessness, he stopped with perfect control. One moment he hurtled through the air; the next he was statue-still, dangling behind her, only his lips moving as he switched to a new face.

"_A while. Oh, don't worry_," he added cheerfully, "_not long enough to break him. He isn't as foolish as he looks, your friend. But_"—and now, nothing but pure ice in his rustling voice—_"give me time._"

"I don't think so," she said evenly, her head held high. "I'm taking him with me. We're leaving."

"_Leaving? So soon?_" Ko's voice filled with disappointment as he rippled toward her, still behind her back. Lips twitched, the dry voice frighteningly close. "_Don't you want to stay a while? I can show you my collection. I've even got an Avatar. He's from the Water Tribe too._"

"Not interested," she replied steadily. "Give me Sokka."

"_Determined, aren't you?_" he observed. "_A brave little girl. I suppose that my Avatar thought he was brave too. But I captured him. I prey on the weak, the foolish, the frightened."_

He slipped closer, lips an inch from her ear.

"_Are you frightened?_"

Toph's heart pounded, her legs threatened to give way, her breath caught in her throat, but her face was still a mask—for after all, no one did impenetrable like the world's greatest earthbender. "You don't scare me, Ko," she murmured. _After all, it's not me I'm scared for_.

"_Lies_," he hissed, curling around in a susurrus of legs and scales. She felt his breath on her face. It was cold and stale, like the scent that hung in the air, but she wished it were warm. Then it would have at least been remotely human. "_You're scared. You're in over your head. Shouldn't send a little girl to do an Avatar's work._"

For the first time, the insult struck a chord, and Toph's fists curled. "Avatar?" she echoed, shaking her head ever so slightly. "I taught the Avatar. You don't know what little girl you're talking to."

"_You would threaten a spirit?_" Ko's voice was a frozen river, the cold apathy glazing over the turmoil below. This was anger Toph heard running through his tone, harsh and frustrated, and she fought a smirk that almost rose to her lips. Being infuriating, as it happened, was a talent of hers. "_An unwise decision._" He was gone in a ripple of serpentine darkness, darting away to the spiraling ceiling of his cave, and obviously certain that her eyes had followed. "_Such a pretty face_," he remarked, his voice dripping poisoned honey. She felt his muscles tense—the motion carried through the stone, a flicker across the ground, running like live wires into her feet.

_Five… four… three… two…_

"_It would be a shame for you to… **LOSE IT!**_"

He fell from above, his face meeting her in an instant. His voice had changed, becoming a dark, chilling snarl, and Toph shuddered as she imagined the matching visage, ripped from another's skin.

But she did not flinch.

Ko recoiled slightly. "_You aren't caught off guard_," he murmured, confusion coloring his tone. "_What makes you special? Why don't you __**fear**__ me?_" he demanded, his rasping voice rising to a growl of anger.

And Toph stared straight at where she felt the spirit, and spoke to a stolen face.

"The blind," she said calmly, "don't fear what they can't see."

Ko's shriek of fury rocked the cave, shrill enough to send her ears ringing. It was the howl of dogs, the scream of children, the roar of lions and cries of the heartbroken. All the faces, all the _lives_ he had taken spewed from his lips, an eruption of sound.

"_Cheater!_" he roared. "_**Cheater!**__ No face to take, no eyes to betray, if you see nothing! __**You**__ would challenge me?_"

"Challenge?" she scoffed. "I _believe_ that I've won."

"_Go!_" the spirit roared. He writhed in rage, curling from wall to wall, twisting himself into endless knots. "_Take your warrior and go! Leave me!"_

The wall melted. There was no other way to say it: the rock at the back of the cave dissolved to air, and Sokka stumbled out. His face was pale and blank, and his eyes were those of a madman. Toph saw nothing of that, but she did feel his heart race as he saw her, and then felt it pick up further speed when he suddenly doubted his eyes.

"Toph?" he called doubtfully, skeptically. "Toph, is that you?"

"Come on," she said, holding out a hand, and he took it slowly. She turned, pulling him gently but firmly after her. The click of legs told her that Ko was still darting through the endless blackness, coiling in fury.

"_Leave, girl,_" he hissed, the voice echoing from behind as they took step after even step towards the exit. "_Leave, and know that if you anger the spirits again, we will not be so merciful…"_

But she ignored him, and tugged Sokka away. They stepped out into light that warmed her skin—only then did she noticed the goosebumps dotting her arms, and that she was shivering—and then Sokka broke out laughing in joy.

"That was crazy!" he exclaimed. "Crazy, like, good—I mean, incredible! You completely flipped him off, Toph! Spirits, did you _see_ how mad he was?"

There was a moment of silence. Toph tilted her head towards him, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. Sokka cringed.

"Sorry?" he offered.

She reached out and cuffed him around the head, bringing his features into sharp focus for an instant. "Ow!" Sokka protested, rubbing his head. Toph crossed her arms.

"You really should be thankful," she said, planting her feet as she faced him, "that I _can't_ see, you know."

Sokka grinned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. For a moment Toph stiffened, but then relaxed; she allowed his arms to envelop her, and hugged him back tightly after a moment, burying her face in his shoulder. Damn—she might act like she was fine here, but this whole place was creepy, and, though it was the last thing she'd ever say, she was well aware how wrong that could have gone. Now, her strong, unbreakable grip and the delicate smile on her lips were the only two things that showed her relief. Sokka spoke finally, gratitude filling his words.

"I am thankful," he replied honestly. Cynically, Toph observed that they were probably as close as they ever came to having a moment, before he continued lightly, "I mean, that was kind of incredible. Even I can't piss off a spirit that much."

She gave a small huff of pride into his shoulder. "I'm not doing it again," she told him, her voice muffled.

Sokka didn't reply, mostly because despite how good a liar she might be, they both knew that she would.

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**No, I don't know where it came from. Mostly I just really like throwing Toph and Sokka into situations where, let's face it, they're a lot more interesting than _some other peopl_e *cough Aang&Katara cough*...**

**--skrybble**


	12. Inside

**#44. Inside**

**In which Sokka and Toph, upon never meeting, are stuck in an elevator. A.U. where there are elevators and businesses and isn't bending. It might be the last for a couple weeks--my life's kind of exploding. Yeah. But other than that, it's all good.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own AtLA  
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Sokka had known for a while now that he _really_ hated elevators.

It wasn't motion sickness, or claustrophobia. He wasn't scared of heights or the cord breaking or any of that stuff—it was generally his nature to assume the people who built these things knew what they were doing. It was the people, or, more specifically, the being stuck in a small, confined area with someone who chances were you didn't know at all. There were two real options in an elevator: you mutually ignored each other (this was definitely both misanthropic and awkward) or you made nervous, bland conversation (very, _very_ awkward, which was possibly even worse than misanthropy). And that wasn't even considering the fact that the elevators here were _slow_. Three minutes up, minimum, for his ride.

Yes, it was miserable. And yet, every day, he rode the elevator up to the top floor of the building at seven o'clock in the morning.

He snuck a sideways glance at the girl standing next to him. He usually tried to ride up on his own—yes, his life was fairly tragic, but he'd already accepted that fact—so he'd hurried in quickly when the elevator had arrived, and pressed the button for his floor with the kind of efficiency that comes from too much routine. The gleaming doors had just been sliding closed when a foot (small, clad in an emerald green leather stiletto) wedged itself firmly in the way, followed by a black, damp nose.*

*For clarity's sake, the nose was subsequently followed by a dog, who was not the owner of the green leather stiletto. That wasn't the point.

_Damn_, Sokka had thought.

The doors had dinged cheerfully back to reveal a figure Sokka didn't recognize. She was short in spite of the heels, with jet-black hair pulled up in some deeply complicated-looking style, and she wore a white button-down shirt and black skirt. He'd swallowed hard at that point, the sound seeming as loud as a thunderclap. The outfit sounded very sensible, but didn't account for the curves lurking beneath it. Because there were curves: very definite ones…

Oh, come on. He was a college-age boy; he was supposed to think these things.

The wet-nosed dog had led her into the elevator. "Sit, Badger," she'd said clearly, and it plopped down next to her. "Press fifty-one," she had told Sokka briskly, adding, "please," as an unaccustomed-sounding afterthought.

"Already did," he'd mumbled. He felt intensely uncomfortable already. It wasn't that he wasn't used to being close to girls—_Suki! Yue!_ Come on! Girls adored him and his natural charm—but he'd broken up with Suki a few months ago, and really hadn't been in many confined spaces with girls since then. Especially not with potential attack dogs. _Especially_ especially not with potential attack dogs called _Badger_.

Well, it was a black and white dog. But still. _Badger_. That was some sense of humor.

Maybe she sensed him glancing over, even without turning. "You're going to the top floor?" She didn't look over as him as she spoke, just stared straight ahead.

"Uh… yeah," he muttered. "Uh-huh. That's my stop. Top floor. Penthouse, I guess you could say…" He always talked too much when he was nervous. Why did he do that?

"What do you do?" she asked. There was skepticism like a razor edge in her voice, and he withered like a plant in a drought. She was definitely the business-y type—even if she hadn't looked so professional, he could have told from how calm and authoritative she looked—and he… wasn't.

"Eh…" He hefted the basket in his hands, feeling his face grow warm. "Muffins," he said lamely, flourishing the baked goods in all their glory.

Her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, and she angled her head towards him, as if she didn't quite believe what she'd heard. "_What?_" she demanded, looking half ready to laugh.

Oh. Damn. The dog and blank-eyed stare and fact that she'd told him to press the button suddenly all merged together. _Idiot, idiot, idiot, no duh she's blind…_ Still, he did think he heard a hint of innuendo in her voice, and vaguely admired her train of thought, which seemed to be a lot more interesting than most of the people's here, "I serve the muffins," he explained. "And stuff." As soon as the words were out, he flinched at their agonizing clumsiness. "I mean, you know the muffin baskets and food that's up there? The buffet? I'm the one who sets that up. And I run errands sometimes."

"Oh," she said idly. "Right. I wondered where those came from."

Silence rushed to fill the elevator like water crashing up to the tide line.

"What kind of muffins?"

He glanced down, grateful for the reason to avert his eyes and make sure he didn't keep looking up. "Uh… cranberry… banana nut… blueberry… fruit, mostly," he summarized, trying to sound as casual as possible. For a moment, he was going to offer her one, but then it occurred to him that maybe she didn't really care, or maybe she'd think he thought she was fat—that was _not_ paranoia, seriously. Girls could pull that kind of assumption out of anything.

"Uh-huh." She gave a distracted little nod, chewing absently at the inside of her lip. A moment later, her stomach growled.

If asked, he would have sort of expected a ladylike little grumble, if anything. To be honest, she seemed like the kind of person whose body would be too scared of her to even try funny business like that. However, there was no timidity to this. A snarling gurgle ripped through the tension-filled air, sounding like a dragon that had just been woken up mid-siesta.

And then came a very, very loud silence.

"Do you want a muffin?" he asked nervously.

For a moment she seemed to linger, caught in an inward debate, but then sighed. She looked suspiciously like she was thinking, albeit wearily, _what the hell_. "Is there anything without fruit in it?"

"Um…" He glanced into the basket. "Corn… bran"—from the side of his vision, he saw her pull a face, apparently having given up on the 'professional' persona entirely—"eh… there's a chocolate one—"

Her hand flew out, palm open and waiting. He could take a hint.

It was even harder now not to look at her while trying not to look like he was specifically _not_ looking at her. She took the muffin eagerly from him, and Sokka found his eyes lingering on her lips as she broke off a piece of crust and popped it into her mouth, drawing her finger out slowly to remove any traces of chocolate. It was followed quickly by another piece, and another show Sokka tried not to watch. He reached up a hand to his throat, loosening his tie nervously. He hated ties, too.

A soft _ding_ announced that they'd reached the top floor. She lowered the muffin and tightened her grip on Badger's leash; he whined and got up, standing ready for action by the doors. For a moment she seemed to waver, before declaring, "I'm Toph."

"Sokka," he blurted instantly.

The doors slid back with a mechanical hiss, and she stepped out. Sokka trailed meekly in her wake, looking for the table to put the muffins on.

"Miss Bei Fong?"

He stared. It was mostly because that woman had just been talking to Toph. A moment later, however, it was because Toph _replied_.

"What is it, Ju Dee?"

"Miss Bei Fong, your father—"

"Can wait. I'm eating, Ju Dee."

"All right, Miss Bei Fong. I'll let him know you're on your way."

_Miss Bei Fong_.

The words echoed numbly in his mind. This was Bei Fong Enterprises. Then Toph's father…

Dear God. He'd just given a muffin to—and, yes, spent an elevator ride staring at—the daughter of the head of the freaking _company_. He was _dead_. Like, literally, he would show up floating in the nearest large body of water tomorrow. Or, then again, maybe she'd sic Badger on him… or maybe they'd just fire him and make sure he never worked again…

Oh, spirits. His dad wouldn't care, but if _Katara_ heard he'd been fired, he'd probably wish he'd been attacked by Badger when he had the chance.

For a moment he briefly considered sitting down and scrawling "Last Will and Testament" at the top of a piece of paper, but before he could start to plan his funeral, he heard Toph's voice again. She and a woman with a large, anxious grin—presumably Ju Dee—were passing, with Badger in the lead; most likely Toph didn't realize he was there at all, for what she said next.

"Oh, and Ju Dee?"

The strained grin grew by a couple of molars. "Yes, Miss Bei Fong?"

"Tell Sok… tell that muffin boy to get more chocolate ones next time. Nobody eats the bran ones anyway."

The woman nodded quickly, still beaming. "Very good, Miss Bei Fong."

And as she passed, he allowed himself an inward sigh of relief as he watched her walk calmly down the hall. Okay, so he was 'that muffin boy', but he was about seventy percent sure she'd been about to say Sokka, and that was enough to bring a small grin to his lips. Maybe—just maybe—the last will and testament could wait.

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**Come on. Everyone loves muffins. You can let me know how much in a review...**


	13. Stuck

**#90. Stuck**

**Again: can anyone actually say that the cave of 2 lovers wouldn't have been better with Toph? Yeah, yeah, yeah, she wasn't here. Details. Besides, I just watched this episode, and it is _sickeningly _adorable, and I decided that was just what everyone needed for Valentine's Day (seeing as I don't do lemons, anyway...)  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA  
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"SECRET TUUNNNELLLL! SECRET TUUNNNELLLL!"

"I," declared Toph under her breath, "am going to smash his head in in a second."

Sokka had to lean over to murmur his reply. He needn't have worried about being quiet—the nomads were utterly absorbed in the chorus—but if they heard him it probably meant Chong improvising a new anti-violence song, and no one wanted to hear that. When he spoke, consequently, it was softly but with equal seriousness.

"Not if I beat you to it."

"You're not beating me to anything," she whispered back fiercely. "Sokka, I don't think you realize how much I loathe these people. Remind me _why_ we're with them?"

"Because they know where the secret tunnel is," he hissed. "Are you even listening to the song?"

"I'm _trying _not to," she snapped, "but they're singing it pretty damn loudly, Sokka."

"_SECRET TUUNNNELLL!_" he chimed in quietly, miserably off-key, and Toph bit back a snicker.

"Never do that again," she began to command. "_Eve—_"

But suddenly she stopped mid-word, hesitating with surprise. Like a hunting dog suddenly catching the faintest scent of prey, she tilted her head slightly to one side, a light frown creasing her face. Her head half-shook, and then she lifted a foot, stomping it down against the cave floor with her next step. The vibrations went flooding outward, and she blinked in surprise, before a slow grin began to tiptoe across her face.

"Besides," she added conversationally, as they turned a corner into a stretch of wall that looked exactly the same as the previous one to Sokka, "there's no secret tunnel."

That shocked him. He stopped dead, and Katara, behind him, walked straight into his back. "Sokka!" she yelped, and Chong broke off mid-long, waving note, his ukulele hand slipping and strumming a sour chord that echoed viciously through the cavern.

"Somethin' goin' on back there, Avatar buddies?" he wondered cheerfully. He seemed unaware of both the painful note and the scowl on Katara's face.

"What's wrong, Sokka?" she snapped, glaring up at her brother in the flickering light.

Sokka's gaze swung immediately to Toph, followed quickly by an accusing finger. "_She_," he proclaimed, "says there's no secret tunnel."

"Whoa!" Chong exploded, whirling in a swoosh of bright fabric to stare at Toph. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa_, Master Tough!" Toph had tried for a while to explain that it was _Toph_, not _Tough_, with an 'off' sound, but the nuances were lost on Chong, who generally couldn't care less. "There's a tunnel; in _fact_, there's a…" He paused, inhaling a deep breath, before blaring, "SEECRET—"

"_Don't_," Toph and Sokka interrupted simultaneously, and he froze, fingers floating just above the ukelele strings. "I think there's not a tunnel," Toph continued flatly, "because the earth's not still. It's shifting. The tunnels—the rocks themselves, I mean—are moving around. Technically, we can stay stuck here forever."

She didn't need to be able to see to feel all of their incredulous stares. "It's true," she snapped, realizing with belated irritation that she sounded defensive. "And unless any of you are earthbenders"—here, Aang opened his mouth to volunteer himself—"and no, Twinkletoes, you don't count—you don't really have the same credibility."

"Wait, wait, wait." Chong sat back against a rock, and Lily, following his example, plopped onto the tunnel's floor. "So you're telling me," he clarified slowly, pointing to Toph and then himself, "that these rocks"—another lengthy, deliberate point around the cavern—"are _moving_?"

"Shifting. Probably badgermoles, or something," she shrugged. "There's not a tunnel. And, I did just figure it out—I would have told you otherwise." _Stop you from singing_, she thought, although she didn't add it aloud.

Chong paused, giving the wall across from him a suspicious look, and then scratched his head calmly. "So," he drawled, "guess we need a new song, huh? Like, uh, 'MOVING TUUNNNELLLLL!', or something…"

He strummed an experimental chord, but Lily shook her head, giving a small, delicate sigh. "Yeah, you're right, Lilz," he agreed with a weary nod, glancing up at her. "Just doesn't have the same ring, huh?"

"Sokka liked the old song," Toph interjected. Chong beamed, flashing the Water Tribe boy a thumbs up, and Sokka shot Toph a venomous but wasted glare.

Katara, meanwhile, had been slowly but surely working herself into a panic. "So what you're saying," she demanded, turning to Toph, "is that we could be stuck down here forever? Because we need to get to Omashu as quickly as possible, and we're running low on torches, and… and…"

"Appa doesn't like it underground," Aang mumbled meekly.

"That's right!" Katara agreed with relief. "Appa doesn't like it here!"

Toph rolled her eyes. "Oh, right—Spirits forbid Appa should be uncomfortable."

"Hey!" snapped Aang, whirling on her. "Don't pick on Appa! He's the one who's got to carry you around on his back all the time; that's not an easy job."

Toph grinned wickedly. "Oh, you better not have just called me fat, Twinkletoes," she murmured, and Aang blanched instantly.

"I... I, no, that's not what I—" His heartbeat was suddenly accelerating faster and faster, nearly drawing even with Katara's now.

But the waterbender shook her head, grabbing Toph's arm. Instinctively, Toph jerked back—hadn't she made it very clear already she wasn't a touchy-feely kind of person?—but Katara held on stubbornly. "Toph, we can't be stuck here," she said fiercely. "You've got to earthbend us out."

That wiped the smile off Toph's face in an instant. "_What?_" she blurted, as if it was the single stupidest idea she'd ever heard—top ten, at least. "Sugarqueen, we've got a freaking mountain on top of us! Do you have any idea how delicate it is already? I can't just make us a tunnel; it'll crush us!"

"I don't like being crushed," Sokka threw in hurriedly.

"Crushing?" Chong broke in, from his perch on the rock. "Man, crushing's not cool, water chick. Crushing's pretty bad stuff."

"And, you know, you have impeccable taste." Sokka this time, voicing exactly what Toph had been thinking.

"You've got to do _something_!" Katara shouted, voice rising shrilly above the wonderful clamor of a multi-sided conversation. "Toph, you're the earthbender"—Aang opened his mouth, rapidly reconsidered, and closed it again—"and none of us can do anything about it, so it's your responsibility. You have to try."

Oh, and it was _such_ a bad idea to get angry now, but the nomads had been singing for way too long, and she was tired and bored, and Katara was so damn _irritating_ that it really wasn't her fault at all. "Fine!" she snapped, lifting her hands threateningly. "You want earthbending, Sugarqueen?"

Planting her feet, she spat on her hands and rubbed them together, satisfied when the motion provoked a shudder from Katara. "Toph—" began Aang nervously.

She cut him off, brushing him away like a gnat. "I'll show you some freaking _earthbending_!" she snapped, and forced her fists suddenly outward in opposite directions.

The world seemed to expand. Before, Sokka could have touched the ceiling if he'd jumped—well, maybe Toph on Sokka's shoulders... but regardless, the space would now have held a lionturtle. They were inside a bubble of rock that had exploded outwards: the ceiling disappeared in black, and the red stone edges were compressed back to smoothed-over curves under her hands.

"_Sweeeet_," drawled Chong in admiration.

_Damn_, agreed Sokka, extremely impressed.

And then the bubble popped.

There was a rumble like a stampede of air bison, all bellowing at once, and then something huge crashed against the ground next to him. The shock wave flung him back into a wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. His head whipped back against the stone: for a moment he saw stars, but then not much else once his eyes started working again. It took him a moment of panic to realize that the light had gone out.

He stayed very still for a moment, hunched on the ground and wheezing for air, but the orchestra of falling rock had worn itself out, and there was silence, unbroken but for the small, wry tap of a pebble bouncing to the ground. He didn't speak—irrational though it was, he didn't dare risk setting it off again. It made no difference, anyway. The silence was doomed to be short-lived.

"Hello?" said an unmistakable voice, without a trace of remorse.

He said nothing.

There was a small scuffle of shifting rock and grabbing hands, a grunt of effort, and then another round of silence. "Shit," she muttered.

"Toph?"

"Sokka?" she inquired, audibly surprised, and then gave a small huff. "So are you done being useless, or are you going to get over here and help me?"

"Um," he said, glancing around, before deciding that no, he definitely couldn't make out a thing in the utter darkness. Honestly, he was having trouble even deciding where she was coming from. "I can't see, Toph."

"Join the club."

"There's no light," he clarified, defensive.

"So find one," she snapped. "My foot's trapped, Sokka, and I'm pretty sure I'm dying."

Mostly he doubted it, but he still reach for the torch tucked across his back, striking it against a smooth patch on the wall. Visions of feet no longer foot-shaped, with flesh hanging in torn ribbons from the skin, clouded his mind, but what he saw was rather anticlimactic. Toph was lying on the ground, glaring at nothing in particular; her foot seemed to be trapped between two rocks. He hurried over to shift them—she yelped in protest when her foot smashed roughly into the ground—and he knelt to take a look, holding the light closer and letting shadows dance across the walls. It wasn't half as bad as he'd worried: just bruised up, as far he could see, swelling at the ankle.

"Broken, maybe?" he wondered, and she gave a moan of despair. It was then that something occurred to him. "Can you _see_ with a broken foot?"

She smacked a hand, fingers splayed, against the floor, and then shrugged. "Sort of. I know you're _there_"—she pointed, presumably aiming for his chest but instead stabbing his shoulder—"but you're… fuzzy. I can't bend, anyway."

"So we're stuck here?"

"I'm better company than the nomads," she offered.

It was true, so he didn't disagree. Instead, he got to his feet, and then took her hand, helping her slowly to her feet. She said nothing, but he didn't think she realized she was grimacing fiercely. "Can you walk?" he asked, concerned, and she grudgingly shook her head. He knelt, waiting but not needing to say a word, and she scrambled clumsily onto his back, wrapping strong, pale arms around his neck. He stood, one hand on the torch and one supporting her hurt foot, and began to walk.

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**Yep—two parts. Next time is the fluff… and I do mean fluff; Valentine's Day, remember? At least here**—**I'm not exactly sure how international it is. But w/e. R&R :)  
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	14. Legacy

**#56. Legacy**

**Referring, of course, to the legacy of the Two Lovers who got their own cave and everything (and how it continues to affect modern-day youth in surprising and horrifically fluffy ways.)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own AtlA**

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He stood, one hand on the torch and one supporting her hurt foot, and began to walk.

And walk.

And _walk_.

He wasn't one to complain—

No, he wasn't one to complain to _her_, but this was ridiculous. They must have been walking for an hour, and the torch was burning down, and they hadn't gotten anywhere that he could see, and he kind of wished—_kind of_. That was very different from actually wishing—that the nomads were there, off-key warbling and all, just to fill the cave's devastating silence. His every footstep was less of a step and more like his foot refusing to stay in midair for a moment longer, crashing instead to the ground.

Toph's foot jarred against his side, and she whimpered. He started at the noise, not because it was loud but because it was so uncharacteristic; catching herself, she turned it into a halfhearted cough. "Careful," she muttered tetchily.

"Right," he replied irritably. "Not like I'm the one carrying _dead weight_ here or anything."

He felt her tense in his arms, and in his peripheral vision, her face contorted into a glare. "Oh, well," she snapped, "I'm sorry my freaking leg is _broken_ _beyond repair_. It's definitely my fault that I'm _crippled_—"

"You're not _crippled_," he scoffed, too exasperated to worry about hurting her feelings. "You've just got a sprained ankle. And it _is _your fault, because you're the one who made the cave-in happen in the first place, oh foremost _expert_ on earthbending."

There was a pause, and then she squirmed suddenly, writhing away from him. "Put me down," she ordered. "I'll walk, then, if I'm such _dead weight_."

He tried to protest, but then she kicked him, her foot connecting with his thigh. It was, technically, only his thigh, but it was also very close to somewhere where he _really_ didn't want to be kicked. Instinctively, he loosened his grip on her, and she wriggled to the ground. She glanced back at him, waving one hand, palm open, in front of her eyes.

"_Crippled_," she said viciously, and as he suddenly got it she turned away. Her new limp was obvious and possibly even exaggerated, but he didn't dare offer to carry her again.

"Sorry," he said, after a couple moments.

She didn't respond.

"Toph, seriously, I'm—"

"Sokka," she sighed, not bothering to look back at him, "there's a difference between me not hearing you and me not _talking_ to you because you're an asshole."

"I'm not an asshole!" he snapped. "And you're not exactly Little Miss Sunshine yourself, you know—"

"Shut up," she interrupted. Her voice was flat, completely inflectionless.

"Why?" he challenged eagerly. "Because it's true? Because the truth hurts, Toph?"

"No," she snapped. "Because I think I can feel something up ahead, and I'm trying to concentrate."

Sokka deflated. "Oh," he mumbled, much more quietly. "My bad."

"Damn right," she muttered, pausing. "But there's… a corner coming up ahead, and past that there's a door—I think. It feels like a door, anyway."

Sokka wondered, briefly, what a door actually felt like, decided it wasn't worth asking, and nodded. "A door to the outside?"

"I don't _know_," she snapped. "A _door_. I'm even more visually impaired than usual; cut me a little slack."

He followed her around the corner, half-expecting a dead end, but to his surprise there was a… well, a something. A circular hatch was carved from the wall, embellished with worn but what were clearly painstakingly detailed pictures. There was only one catch—Toph hadn't mentioned the door's height: approximately ten feet, which was approximately four and a little bit feet taller than Sokka. He eyed it dubiously, not sure how exactly he was supposed to open it.

But he didn't have to worry. Toph limped over to it, placing a hand on the center. She paused, inhaling deeply, and then wrenched her hand to the side. Grating with age-old protest, the door rolled sideways, revealing a dark room beyond. A moment later, she slumped against the wall, grimacing in pain.

Sokka hurried over and threaded an arm around her waist, helping her through the hole. "You okay?" he asked, and she harrumphed something cavalier under her breath. He didn't buy it for a second, and set her down with deliberate care, before holding the torch higher to light this new and massive room. Two curling staircases swung around to either side of him, leading down to a large, open floor, in the middle of which stood…

Oh, Spirits. Sokka stared, horrified. In the middle of the floor was a raised section of floor, and on the raised section stood two magnificently patterned boxes. Person-sized boxes.

"Sokka?" whispered Toph, no longer half so confident. "Sokka, is it…?"

"It's a crypt," he nodded, taking a deep, trembling breath. "This must be the two lovers' final resting place, or… something."

She shivered. "Creepy."

"Yeah. Well." He couldn't have said where the urge came from, but he suddenly felt himself straighten up slightly, swallowing his unease. One of them had to be the brave one for the other. If Toph—fearless, unshakable Toph—was scared, then he'd just have to be fearless for both of them. "There's nothing here to hurt us. We'll just keep going."

She hesitated, so long that he almost started to worry, but then came a reply: in a very small voice, but a reply nonetheless, which was always better than the alternative. "There's another door at the other end," she murmured, and he nodded, turning to help her down the stairs. She didn't object—something about the way she was biting her lip and her drawn, pale cheeks made him certain she was still hurting a lot more than she had said.

They were most of the way across the room, at the other side, when she stopped, placing a hand against the wall. "Good bending," she said, high praise. "That's really detailed."

"There's a painting, too," Sokka told her, lifting the torch and letting the firelight roam across the stone. The two lovers knelt across from each other, lips bare centimeters from a kiss. "It's the lovers—them, kissing. That's pretty good, too."

"Here?" Toph reached, slapping at the rock with a splayed-fingered hand. As luck would have it, however, it landed on the man's rear, with such square-on aim that for a moment Sokka actually doubted her blindness. He glanced around, suddenly aware that the woman lover's ghost—if ghosts existed, which they didn't, but _still_—might not appreciate the current situation very much.

"Yeah," he agreed nervously, tugging Toph's hand away. "There. And…" There was writing along the bottom, and he rubbed away a thin veil of reddish dust to read it. "It says, _'Love'_," he quoted, squinting, "_'is brightest in the dark.'_"

Toph snorted. "_That_ sounds like a load of bisonshit."

Sokka, who had been thinking the same thing, bit down a grin. "Kind of," he agreed.

There was a pause. He looked at the picture. Toph tilted her head to the side slightly, face inscrutable. She opened her mouth slightly, closed it as if suddenly reconsidering, and then blurted, "Hey… Sokka?"

"Yeah?"

"Um…" She paused, and he stared: was this really Toph Bei Fong, _stuttering_? "I just had an idea," she said slowly.

"What is it?"

"Well… in the picture, you said it says 'love is brightest in the dark', right? And there's a picture of them kissing."

"Uh-huh…?"

"And so I was thinking, maybe, uh…" Spirits, was it just him, or were her cheeks going darker all of a sudden? Was she _blushing_? "Maybe," Toph suggested tentatively, "um, _we_ should kiss."

His jaw dropped, and he stared. Honestly? He'd never thought about it before, mostly because it was so completely _unthinkable_. He wasn't adverse to the idea, if he was being totally honest—after all, kissing was rarely a _bad_ thing, and Toph was sort of pretty in a hardcore kind of way, but… kissing her? _Now?_

"Us… kissing?" he managed weakly. Spirits—but that was _wrong_. Not even considering the fact that they were in a _tomb_, she was three years younger (all right, so he was only just fifteen, and she was almost thirteen, but still…)

It was the wrong response, and he saw her frost over, turning away. "Sorry," she muttered. "It was a stupid idea."

"What? No," he protested, adding quickly, "I mean, no, you just surprised me, because it wasn't something that I'd really thought about—"

"No. Stop," she repeated. "It was stupid, okay?"

"No," he objected, "it wasn't stupid, I just hadn't considered it..."

"Everything you say," she announced, turning for the crypt's exit, "just makes this a million times more awkward."

He opened his mouth to reply, but then her words sunk in, and he fell silent. Anyway, it likely had been a stupid idea—obviously they were already great friends, but they'd never had any interest in being more than that. Kissing Toph in a cave with the excuse of _survival_ was probably a really, _really_ bad idea.

"Come on," she said, without looking at him. "The tunnel keeps going over here."

She shoved open a door with only the slightest wince of pain, leaving him to follow. For a moment, he just watched her go. There was some distinct eeriness to watching Toph, ghost-pale, limp away into the pitch-black tunnel. Obviously, darkness held no sway over her, but it could certainly send a chill down _his_ spine. Hand tightening on the torch, he hurried after her, careful to drag the door closed after them.

* * *

"Ow," Toph said.

Immediately, Sokka winced. It was the first time she'd admitted how much it hurt without a trace of sarcasm, and he had no idea what to do. Toph's '_ow_', after all, was the general equivalent of most people's '_ohhh the pain make it stop make it stop_'. "You want to stop?" he offered, and without a pause she flopped against the wall and slumped to the floor.

"Ow," she repeated, gingerly stroking her injured foot.

"I'm sorry," he offered lamely.

She hesitated, hand still resting on her ankle. "Sokka?"

He bit his lip. Plenty of experience had made it clear his bedside manner left a lot to be desired, and Toph was a veritable minefield in conversations even when healthy. "Yeah?"

"Sokka, I really want to get out of here."

"I know," he admitted. "Me too." His eyes flickered to the torch, which was only a stub in his fingers now. Soon they would both be blind.

But she wasn't done. "And... I think," continued his friend, with the most timidity he'd ever heard from her, "that maybe, if we have any ideas, we should try them. Even if they're stupid."

He sat down next to her, a smile half sympathy and half concurrence on his face. "I think you're right," he replied.

The torch guttered out as he placed it on the floor, leaving him sightless. There was a huge pause, tension so thick in the air even Boomerang couldn't have cut it. Sokka hesitated, feeling blood rising to his cheeks. Tongue darting nervously along his lips, he slowly leaned in, craning his neck towards her.

For a moment, it was _awkward_. Nothing but. Toph had frozen the second his face started to come closer—expert though she might be at practically everything, this left her lost for what to do. _Help!_ an unconscious part of her shrieked. It didn't even matter that she did sort of maybe think Sokka was cute; this was uncharted territory, and she was terrified.

She stiffened further the instant his mouth touched hers. His lips were dry and sort of chapped, but very, very gentle. In fact, Toph realized, he seemed to be touching her as little as possible. _This is kissing?_ she wondered incredulously. World's biggest rip-off, more like.

Well, screw this. She was lost in an endless, cursed _cave_—it was the best excuse she would ever have, ever—and she wasn't going to die without having had a freaking decent first kiss. She leant in, tilting her head to the side slightly and, after a moment's pause, lifting a hand up to his face.

The effect was instantaneous. Sokka went rigid for a moment, and then he bent closer in, lips suddenly less chaste and more curious. His hands moved to her face, warm and slightly calloused, and his mouth was suddenly moving faster, the recoil reflex lost completely. Toph tried to keep up for a moment and then abandoned the effort, letting him figure it out. Might as well let him have one thing he was better at. He didn't seem to mind, though—as far as she could tell—and for several moments there was just them, and dark, and his face on hers, and a totally new experience.

And then he pulled away breathlessly, and suddenly they were Sokka and Toph again, and he was holding her face. She had a hand on his cheek, and was panting for breath. She felt his heart stutter, freeze, and then take off in a panic.

"Okay...?" she offered, breaking the silence.

He jerked and dropped his hands. "That… that was, uh…" _Kind of hot in an unexpected kind of way_, supplied his mind, but his tongue choked on a reply. "Agg…" he felt himself say, and convulsed inwardly with humiliation.

"Feel curse-free yet?" she asked, and he slumped with relief, freed by the excuse of the cave.

"Uh…" he mumbled. "Uh…" One of her eyebrows was raised ever so slightly, and her hair, usually so carefully pulled up, was slipping out from its bun. She looked expectant.

Wait…

It occurred to him, with a jolt, that he could, in fact, see her.

Which meant that there was light.

His gaze rose slowly up to the ceiling, following the strange, alien color, until they met their own aurora borealis, a teal-green trail stretching off into the distance. His eyes widened, and, lost for words, his mouth took the opportunity to curve into a grin.

"Hey, Toph," he heard himself saying. "You know that quote on the picture that we thought was bisonshit?"

* * *

"_Sokkaaa!"_

Barely had he stepped into the daylight, ready to enjoy it, when Katara flung himself at him. "Sokka!" she yelped. "We were so worried! Don't ever, ever, ever do that to me again, ever!"

He made a vague choking noise, the best he could manage, and patted her on the back awkwardly. Beside him, Toph cleared her throat.

"Oh, no, don't mind me. Not in _pain_ over here or anything."

"Toph!" Katara exclaimed, and in an instant she was squeezing the life out of Toph instead. "Toph, you're okay! I was so scared—the ceiling fell, and you were right there, and the earthbending was my idea—"

Toph—in a motion that would earn Sokka's undying respect—grabbed Katara's shoulders, yanking her away. "I forgive you," she interrupted firmly. "Now, can you _please_ do your thing with magic water, before my foot falls off?"

Instantly, Katara had the water out, and was waving her hands to let it envelop Toph's foot. The earthbender gave a groan of relief. "So how'd you get out?" Sokka asked, mainly to stop Katara from gushing again.

Aang, nearby, went rigid, but Katara just smiled. "We let love guide the way," she said, her cheeks flushing the slightest pink. Toph made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat, and the waterbender's smile vanished. "Well, what about you?" she challenged.

Both Toph and Sokka went slightly pale. "Erm…" he started.

"Badgermoles," Toph interrupted quickly.

Katara looked stunned. "_Really?_"

"Yeah," Sokka interjected. "Yeah, Toph can… talk to them."

Toph's eyes flew open in disbelief. _Damn it, Sokka—you couldn't just leave the lying to me?_ "Oh… yeah," she elaborated, through gritted teeth. "With earthbending. It's... complicated. But I really can't take all the credit; it was Sokka's way with animals that really pulled it off."

Katara raised an eyebrow, opened her mouth to comment, and then thought better. "How's your foot feel, Toph?" she wondered tactfully.

Toph, grinning with two kinds of relief, sat up eagerly. "It's great," she replied. "I can _see_! Man, it sucks being blind."

"Good," Katara nodded, deliberately ignoring the irony. "Come on, then—Appa's ready to go."

"Okay," Toph agreed. "Just a second, okay?" Satisfied, Katara turned away, making her way towards the air bison. The moment her back was turned, Toph drove her fist mercilessly into Sokka's arm.

"_Badgermoles?_" she demanded. "_Really_?"

"She bought it!" he protested. "It worked, right?"

Toph shook her head pityingly. "Leave the lying to me," she told him. "_Badgermoles._ Spirits, Sokka, _Momo_ could have come up with something better—"

And Katara, who was in fact more perceptive than they'd given her credit for, glanced back at the two of them and gave a small, knowing smile.

* * *

**OMG. This was loooong. And, technically, late for Valentine's Day, but considering the _bucketloads_ of fluff... worth it? Hopefully?**

**Well. R&r, anyway ^_^  
**


	15. Foolhardy

**#25. Foolhardy**

**I had WAAAY too much fun writing this.

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"So Toph and Katara are just sitting in there? Talking?"

Sokka shrugged, leaning back against the red silk cushion. The low-backed sofa, like the rest of the Fire Lord's palace, had a certain glamour to it, and he had found that it was far easier to ignore it than to try and conform to it. "I guess," he replied, frowning absently at the scarlet vase of fire lilies on the table.

Zuko, sitting at the other end of the couch, let a conspiratorial smile slide across his face. "And you're still _here_?"

Sokka blinked, gaze flicking to the firebender. "Huh?"

"Come on." Zuko grinned, flicking long, dark hair from his eyes. "Toph and Katara. What's the one thing they have in common?" Sokka stared, utterly lost, and the Fire Lord rolled his eyes after a moment. "_Your_ sister and _your _girlfriend, Sokka."

He stiffened with realization. "Me?" he demanded. "You think they're talking about me?"

"Girl talk," replied Zuko knowledgably. "And there's only one topic girls are interested in talking about together."

"_What?_" The warrior hesitated, cheeks flushing slightly. "Not… _sex?_"

Zuko choked on a sip of tea. Spluttering for several seconds, he set the cup down carefully, disbelieving golden eyes never leaving Sokka's face. "What?" he snapped. "Of course not! That's guys—_guys_ talk about sex! _Girls_ talk about… well, two things," he amended, trying to regain the cool he'd had a moment ago. "Shopping, and guys."

Sokka frowned, considering. "And you think they're talking about me."

"Definitely," Zuko nodded, deeming it safe to take a sip of tea again. "So the question remains: why are you _here_?"

"You think I should go spy on them?" Sokka tried to make himself sound appalled, but Zuko had such a knowing expression on that halfway through it faded into a genuine question. The firebender nodded seriously.

"I would," he declared. Sokka paused, scrabbling for an excuse as to why it was a bad idea, but curiosity finally won out. He heaved himself off the couch, starting towards the door to the parlor. "Guys," called Zuko coolly from behind him. "I bet you. Ten silver pieces."

Sokka gave him a thumbs up of agreement as he turned the corner. Instantly, his walk shifted to a tiptoe; every ounce of stealth he possessed suddenly called into action as he crept towards the room where Katara and Toph had gone. He paused outside the door, but all he could make out was the indistinct murmur of voices. After only the slightest moment of doubt, he leant closer, pressing his ear to the door.

"—well, I think, color-wise, the best is pretty light, you know? And, like, otherwise, just generally not _too_ intense a character. Or that's my opinion, anyway."

Katara's voice, unmistakably. Sokka's eyes widened. He was out ten silver pieces after all—the description was Aang, down to a tee. The fact that color made a difference gave him pause, but he nonetheless felt a sudden half-disbelief and half-reverence for Zuko. He'd have to give the firebender a little more credit next time.

There was a snort then that could only be Toph. "B.S.," she proclaimed. "There's only one kind for me."

"And what's that?" Katara wondered—from the sound of her voice, leaning closer in interest. _The Sokka kind_, urged the warrior from outside, but made no sound.

"Easy," Toph replied. "Strong, black, and rich."

Katara laughed, but outside the door, Sokka's eyes widened. That description was pretty… well, maybe… hmm.

Strong? He made an experimental muscle, and grinned reflexively. _Definitely_. But black? He squinted at his hand, eyes narrowing. He was more of a tan color, if anything. Not _dark_ dark. But not Fire Nation pale either, so that was something. He hoped.

Given a moment to consider, it might have occurred to him that color wouldn't matter to Toph, but the last word worried him. _Rich_. He wasn't badly off—sudden lack of ten silver pieces aside—but he was no Bei Fong. And, honestly, he'd kind of thought she didn't care about that. She'd never seemed bothered to be less wealthy than her parents, but was she? Something twisted in Sokka's stomach, and he bit his lip as he strained to catch Katara's reply.

"Sounds about right for you."

"Yeah," Toph agreed. "I think there's got to be some… compatibility, I guess—you know? Likeness. Different kinds work for different people."

"Oh, _completely_. Everyone's got a different flavor that works for them."

"That's the thing." There was a rustle of fabric and creaking of furniture, presumably Toph leaning back in her armchair. "Like, with the good ones, they're really unique, you know? I mean, they've got their own distinct taste and everything. Some people just go with anything, but that's a big thing for me. Taste, I mean."

Sokka, eyes now probably three times their usual size, ran his tongue experimentally along his lips. Did he have a flavor? Did he taste _good_? Spirits, what if he tasted _bad_? He was about eighty percent sure that that could be grounds for a breakup.

"And smell," added Katara, an impish smile now coloring her voice. "I mean, right away, they've got to have a nice smell, you know? That's how you can tell the good ones."

_Smell? _Now _smell_ was important too? That did it—next time he wasn't taking any of Zuko's goddamn advice; _next_ time, he was ignoring the firebender completely. He should definitely not be hearing this...

There was a slight pause. _Not smell, _begged Sokka silently. _Don't talk about how I smell, _please_…_

"You know, I have, like, two a day, now. Regularly."

The bottom dropped out of Sokka's stomach. Toph had _two?_ As in, him and then someone else? But… but she... but she couldn't—

"_Two?_" Katara echoed. "Seriously? But that's _so_ bad for you, Toph."

_Bad for _her_? Oh, sure, feel sorry for the two-timing backstabbing heartbreaking little—_

"I know, I know," sighed Toph, not sounding nearly apologetic enough. "I mean, I used to just have one, but things can get so crazy nowadays, you know? Like, lately it feels like I need two just to keep me going. One in the morning, and one in the afternoon." (Sokka blanched—he was the morning one. All this time, he'd believed she really was busy with her "Earth Nation negotiations" and "earthbending" all day!) Toph paused, and then added conspiratorially, "Sometimes three, on really busy days."

"_Toph!_" exclaimed Katara, sounding more delighted than anything else. Gossip like this, supposed Sokka bitterly, was probably priceless. "How do you get any _sleep_? And…" She stopped, and then wondered quietly, "and isn't that _expensive?_"

_Expensive?_ Oh, Spirits… oh, he didn't want to hear this… no, it couldn't be, Toph couldn't really be paying for…

"I manage," Toph answered coolly. "And it's totally worth it. I can't get enough lately. Having it be _good_ is a perk, but sometimes," she finished wickedly, "it's like, as long as it's hot, I'll take it."

A thrilled giggle from Katara, the kind nearly all girls responded with when let in on a scandal. "Spirits," she grinned, "you're an _addict_!"

"Kind of," shrugged Toph. "But it's so _good_. Don't you ever have days when you just need an extra kick? Or, oh, right—you're just that _ridiculously_ peppy all the time?"

"I don't have a lot," replied Katara thoughtfully. "I mean, Aang doesn't really like it, so I usually just go without. Just when I'm feeling really in need, you know?"

Not only was his _girlfriend_ a player, but so was his _sister?_ What was wrong with 'going without'? _He_ managed, didn't he? Did he just know some seriously screwed-up people, or were all girls like this? And if they were, did the oh-so-knowledgeable Zuko know _that_, too?

"Aang doesn't like it?" Toph echoed, sounding surprised. "But he's so busy all the time. You'd think he'd need it once in a while."

Katara gave a delicate, weary sigh. "_He_ says he take care of it by meditating," she replied, her tone making it clear she disapproved. Sokka, outside, couldn't help his own wave of skepticism. The kid lived with Katara, and took care of his needs by _meditation? _"He's such a _monk_ sometimes, I swear," continued his sister blithely. "I mean, it's adorable, but still, you'd think he'd be a little more human just occasionally."

"Probably some Avatar crap," Toph muttered. "And, okay, moving on from the subject of how adorable Aang is, all right? Seriously. We all know he's crazy about you."

"Well, everyone's got to have their addictions," Katara said, with a kind of dark mischief in her voice that her brother had never heard. Toph laughed in response, a nefarious giggle that, quite honestly, terrified Sokka.

"And I _love_ to fix 'em," she finished readily.

There was a silence, and then the worst thing yet. From within the room, Sokka heard a soft sucking sound, and then a deep groan of pleasure that was undeniably Toph's. He knew that groan, because it was one he elicited from her whenever he could. Up until now, he'd thought he was the only one whose job that was. "Ahh," sighed Toph happily. "That's _good_."

"Looks like it," Katara observed. "Can I try?"

"Yeah. Just a little, though. This one's my favorite."

That did it. How the _hell_, Sokka wanted to know, had they gotten one of her boy toys in there? And who in La's name did she think she was? Fooling around with some goddamn 'strong, rich, and black' creep while her boyfriend was in the next room over? Did she have no decency? No _shame_? Or did she just not care, because he was expendable, too?

Something twisted in Sokka's chest, a stabbing pain just between his ribs. He _loved_ Toph—a feeling she'd always_ said_ she returned—and she was cheating on him? He couldn't believe it; it just couldn't _be—_

Another slurping noise, and then a sigh. "_Yum_," said Katara.

And he snapped. He shoved the door open with a bang, ready to clock the hell out of Toph's communal boy toy with Boomerang. He stared around the room, eyes alight with fury…

And stopped. There was no one there but Katara and Toph, his sister looking shocked and Toph mildly entertained. They sat across from each other in matching crimson armchairs, both holding delicate china teacups. "Sokka?" Katara demanded, staring at her brother with an expression somewhere between disbelief and horror. "Were you _spying_ on us?"

"What? I… no, I wasn't… well, kind of, but… what were you guys _talking_ about?" he finally spluttered, weapon hand slipping to hang by his side.

"As if it's any of your business," Katara huffed, but Sokka wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Toph, who was grinning evilly. In her hands was a small cup, pale fingers of steam rising from the dark liquid. She held it out to him, offering, still with that smirk wallpapered across her face.

"Hi, Sokka," she said. "Want some coffee?"

* * *

"Well?" prompted Zuko, as his friend came tramping back around the corner. "Guys, right?"

Sokka said nothing—just made his way over to the other end of the sofa, and fell back onto it. He flopped his head back in exhaustion, staring first at the high, arching ceiling, but then turning to look at Zuko.

"You," he said accusingly, "owe me ten silver pieces."

The eyebrow on Zuko's good side flew up, so far that it was almost lost in the jungle of his hair. "Not guys?" he demanded, incredulous.

"No," the warrior replied, unable to keep a tiny note of relief from his voice. "_Definitely _not guys."

* * *

**I had fun with it. Reviews are an even better pick-me-up than coffee... XD**


	16. Death

**#67. Death **

**Huge thanks, as always, for the reviews. I'm cheaply posting this one--apologies to anyone who's already read it, but I figured that a little deviation from innuendos, badgermoles, etc. was necessary. Wrote this after watching the one where Jet dies—****you know, he says, "Go fight, I'll be fine," and as they walk away, Toph says, "He's lying"**—**while consequently feeling morbid and tragic-ish.  
**

**I don't know what battle it is. Picture a different, more Black-Sun-like finale, where everyone but Aang (plus some ground forces) are busy holding off the Fire Nation while he goes off to face Ozai.  
**

**Anyway. I digress. Read on, if you're still with me.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

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* * *

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There are some things you never see coming that have nothing to do with blindness.

They were fighting side by side, just like always. It was the most natural thing to do, since both of them considered themselves the more capable—though he called her his equal to her face; and she would scoff and mutter she was better, really—and both held themselves utterly responsible for the other's life. Forget kisses, embraces, or even when he led her while she was fully blind: _this_ was the true meaning of togetherness.

It was an unspoken agreement that they would have died for each other. To a certain extent, Toph had even used to like that: the intense trust that preceded everything else. She would have—no, she already had placed her life in Sokka's hands. Of course she would have died for him, or Aang, or Zuko, or probably Katara, or maybe even Suki. It went unsaid, because a) it would have been disgustingly melodramatic, and b) she'd never thought it would come to anything.

She was very, very wrong.

It happened so easily, in what someone who saw would call the blink of an eye. Lost in the rush of battle, she'd been reveling in the power she wielded: enough to send battalions flying, to bury dozens of men; hell, enough to hold off almost an army. She never—no pun intended—saw it coming.

One firebender, a stupid, nameless soldier about to ruin her life, had managed to get close enough to attack. How, she would never know. Maybe she had been too busy decimating the rest of the troops, and maybe his soft footsteps were lost in the vibrations coursing through the ground, land mines and the ever-present thud of empty bodies to the ground.

The reason didn't matter. He fired.

A shout rang out, its terror piercing through the noise like a knife through butter. Sudden footsteps rushed, and then she was shoved to the ground with a gasp of surprise. A moment later, heat rushed over her, grazing her face as she threw up her hands to protect it. She smelled the acrid scent of her hair burning from her arms, and then a body collapsed to the ground beside her, landing with finality.

He hit the earth spread-eagled, and Toph felt every inch of him in perfect detail. A strangled cry rose from her lips, disbelief and denial mingled into one. Then she was on her feet, throwing her fists madly, and with every punch, a boulder flew from the ground, smashing against the already-dead Fire Nation soldier.

"No," she hissed with each blow, "no, no, no, no, _no_!" But the words had no effect, and he was still lying there, so still. She abandoned the attack and slumped to the ground, landing on her hands and knees. Moisture was running down her face, dripping from her chin to the bloodstained ground. Troops—_her side? Maybe. It wasn't like it mattered any more_—surged past her, forcing the firebenders back, but for Toph, it was already far too late.

"Sugarqueen!" she screamed. "Katara, help! Please!" She could only managed a crawl as she stumbled to his body, grabbing his shoulders, running her small hands along his neck for a pulse…

_There!_ There it was, but weak, and fading with every second. Her other hand moved to his chest, scorched and searing hot. The fabric was burned away, and her pale, shaking fingers came away warm and wet.

"_Katara!_" she shrieked, as she heard the rattle of breath in his throat.

Then, with a thrill of relief, she felt the Water Tribe girl's rapid, distinctive footsteps. "Over here!" she called, and Katara changed direction, skidding to a halt when she saw the figure lying there.

"Oh," she gasped, faltering for a split second, but then she was racing over, collapsing onto the ground next to Toph, reaching for her water in one fluid motion. Her usually steady fingers shook, drops splattering the ground, but she forced them steady, moving her liquid-coated hands quickly to his chest. They shone silver in the evening's half-light, beauty alien to the scene around them.

It wasn't enough. The wounds half-closed, but Katara knew—really, had known from the moment she got there—that the fire had worked its way deep into his heart, and no amount of glowing water would replace the dark blood soaking the ground, and his shirt, and Toph. Katara's eyes brimmed with tears, and she gave a choked, tearful gasp.

In return, he made a rasping noise that the two girls realized after a moment were attempted words. "Toph," he whispered. "Toph…"

Toph leaned closer immediately. "I'm here," she reassured him quickly. Her small hands found his large one, and she grabbed it and guided it to her face, forgetting the tears still streaking her cheeks.

"Are you… okay…?" he asked laboriously.

She choked on a sob, and it lodged painfully in her throat. "I'm fine," she whispered. "He got you instead."

"I know," he sighed, adding after a moment, "I meant… to do that."

"Idiot," she mumbled, but it was halfhearted. He gave a weak laugh that turned into a raw, wracking cough, and blood splattered his chin. With all the care in the world, Toph wiped it away.

"Hold on," she murmured. "Just hold on, for me, okay? Katara's going to heal you, I promise."

She paused, waiting for Katara's agreement, but none was forthcoming. To her horror, she felt the girl's heart stutter as she spoke. "What?" she hissed, hands tensing at the silence. "Katara, heal him! What's _wrong_?"

"Nothing," the waterbender replied after a moment, her words hollow and wooden. "Nothing's wrong." There was a pause, and then she said quietly, "Go fight, Toph. I'll take care of him. He'll be fine."

Toph's breath was suddenly shallow and quick, rather like Katara's heartbeat. "You're lying," she whispered. "Why are you lying, Katara?" The older girl looked down, unable to meet the sightless eyes, and Toph repeated brokenly, "Why are you lying?"

Another coughing fit took Katara off the spot. Toph clutched the young man's hand, stroking his bloody face with her fingertips. "Toph," he rasped, "Calm… down. I'll be… fine."

Tears were running freely down her face, dripping onto his chest. "You're lying too," she said, her voice thick with tears. "Stop it. You're going to be fine."

"Toph," he said sadly, and this time his voice held no pretension any more. "Toph… I love you…"

The words stabbed her, twisting somewhere within her ribs like a knife, and she wished that he would lie, if only because the truth hurt so much more. She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing openly into his shoulder. "No," she whimpered in his ear, half to herself, "_no_, please!"

One of his rough hands cupped her face, thumb stroking her pale cheek. His lips were near her ear, barely moving as he spoke. "Tell me," he said faintly. "Toph… please…"

"I love you," she echoed, her voice breaking, and then continued where he hadn't. "I love you so much, Sokka, more than anything, earthbending, even, so you can't die, you can't—"

She felt his lips curve into a sad smile against her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"You saved me," she reminded him weakly. "Don't be sorry, it's all my fault…"

"It's _not_... your fault," he interrupted, his finger clumsily finding her lips. "It's okay, Toph."

Her tears came stronger, faster, because he wasn't lying this time. He sounded calm, like nothing mattered but that _she_ wouldn't feel guilty. His heart was stumbling, missing entire seconds where it should have been beating. He coughed again, and she felt drops of blood splatter her tangled hair, but she didn't move; she couldn't bear to.

"I love you," he repeated, and then she felt him growing limp in her arms.

"No, Sokka!" she shrieked, grabbing his sagging shoulder, shaking him. "Please!"

But the air in his lungs just whooshed out in a final rasp, and then Toph felt his heart stop; and the world ended not with a bang, but with a silence.

It should have been different. He should have had everyone around him, and decades more outlined in a wrinkled face. Instead, there was nothing but empty stillness to say that her Sokka was gone. No pulse existed for her to feel any more, and no warmth in his rigid hands, still clutched in hers.

Next to her, Katara was now weeping freely, her delicate sobbing uncontrollable. Strangely enough, Toph felt all her tears stop. She had no desire to cry. A cold numbness had descended over her, and still she gripped the corpse's hand, grateful not to see his wounds. A million feet rushed past her, and she could hear shouts of joy, but they must have come from far away, some other world where joy could still exist.

The war might not be over yet, but for Toph Bei Fong, it had already been lost.

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**Reviews are great, always; I'd love to know if you liked it... or even hated that I had the nerve to dare split up Tokka--hey, it's still a review ;)  
**


	17. Erode

**#92. Erode**

**Thanks, as always, for reviews, which make my day. Nobody will die again for a long time (promise... although do bear in mind I said nothing about angsting) and there are such lovely things as suddenly-hot Tophs and hungover/wicked-high-on-_something_ Sokkas coming soon...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

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Sand is gritty between her bare toes as she makes her way along the beach. What was a fearsome stomp fades gradually into a slow, weary slouch, before she stops a few feet from the water, feeling something unusual near her foot. Toph bends down and picks up a small, rounded stone between her fingers, rubbing a thumb across it with a touch that starts out absent and rapidly becomes curious. It's interesting, this rock: it's smooth, not jagged, a little oval of earth that fits perfectly in her hand.

Puzzled, she halts her fingers, and lets herself sense rather than feel. Usually the quality of rock comes as easily to her as colors—green, blue, red—come to everyone else. Since she's never going to understand 'blue'—let alone '_cerulean_'; thank you, Katara—she doesn't expect anyone else to understand how she knows what kind of rock this is: what texture, what fossils and sediment lay still to form it for millions of years.

She does, however, expect herself to know, and she finds herself stunned when she doesn't. It's rock, goddamnit, and it should be _familiar_. But this rock is different. Oh, she can tell it's mainly volcanic, with a few extra sediments and plants thrown in, and it comes from Ember Island—it's the same composition as the sand, just compressed by geological phenomena long ago—but it's _off_ somehow.

"Toph?" calls a voice from behind. The faintest jerk of her shoulders proves her surprise, but she doesn't move at all beyond that. Footsteps hurry closer, a figure growing slowly clearer as his image travels through a billion grains of sand to her feet.

"You didn't have to say that, you know," he snaps, coming up behind her. "Katara's really upset. She never means to upset you, Toph."

"She tries to be my mom," she's muttered on previous occasions, "and it pisses me off," to which he always responds, "Well, it pisses _me_ off making you two play nice, so you think you could suck it up for a little while?" And she always does suck it up, _for_ _a little while_, but the little while never lasts long.

So this time she doesn't talk. Her fingers continue to smooth over the rock, curious but unhurried.

"Aang's talking to her," he continues after a beat. "So she'll be fine, I guess. But do you realize you scared off the toucan-puffins I was trying to catch? I was _this_ close… goddamnit, Toph, I need some meat!" Realizing this is a feeble excuse, he amends, "And we've only just got Sparky-Sparky-Boom-Boom Man off our tail and everything!"

("That's a stupid name," she'd usually interjected here, but doesn't. She's still preoccupied with the rock. What's _wrong_ with it?)

"…All right," he concedes finally, almost to himself, "so it's not a _great_ name, but that doesn't mean he isn't dangerous, and I'm not getting psychic mind-waves shot at my just because of a stinking catfight—"

"There's something wrong with this rock."

He seems startled at the interruption. "Do I look like I give a damn about your stupid roc—" he begins, but she holds it up for his inspection anyway, cutting him off.

"It's all smooth," she says, "and I can't feel anything in its composure to make it like that. Do you know why…?"

She stops—he's shifted, the anger leaving his stance to be replaced by interest. It isn't necessarily rare for Sokka to be inspired, but it's extremely unusual for it to come at a convenient time, and even more so for it to be relevant, so the novelty of this idea brings a wide grin to his face. He's been struck by a _metaphor_, which is definitely proof of genius, and he intends to milk it for absolutely everything it's worth.

"You know what happened to the rock?" he replies, taking it from her and running long, worn fingertips over it. The faded white lines of cuts mark his hands, and the fingers are rough and calloused, toughened by scars that weren't there half a year ago. "A long time ago, this rock was all jagged, and it got tossed into the ocean, right? And it sank to the bottom, kind of just resting in the sand, and the waves went in and out over it—all _whoosh,_ _whoosh_…"

In case his point hasn't been proven—and possibly recalling that Toph didn't understand ocean waves any better than colors—he demonstrates with his hands, waving them up and down in what he felt was a very accurate impersonation. "_Whooosssh…_" he repeats, for effect.

Toph blinks. "Blind," she offers, "not, uh, _deaf_?"

He stops mid-wave, realizing she's kind of right. "Well, the water smoothes it over," he continues, slightly subdued but still reveling in the brilliance of this allegory. "The rock goes in all jagged and rough, but the waves wash away all the sharp edges, and when the rock's smoothed over, the tide pushes it up onto the beach again—all new and cool, and stuff. Like, a metamorphosis." The last words had five syllables, he notes, which definitely translates into bonus points.

She pauses. "So the water… deformed it?"

"What?" he protests, startled. "Wait… no, no! It_ re_formed it!"

"It changed it," she snaps, "from a perfectly good rock into… into something _harmless_. It _broke_ it."

And he almost suspects he hears a note of protest in her voice, and is about two-thirds certain she's recognized his hidden meaning. "No, it didn't," he contradicts quietly. "It didn't make it worse. It rubbed away all the hardness and roughness and stuff—it made it new again. Like… a fresh start, right? It's better now."

Toph goes very quiet in response, a pensive silence settling around her like a veil he struggles to see through. Her shoulders are tight, and the setting sun glares into her eyes, shining off them like glass—funny trick of the light, since they almost look wet for a moment.

"Rocks don't… adjust, though," she says finally, her voice very quiet. "Rocks are tough. That's the point. They just… deal with it."

"Yeah," he agrees, rubbing the back of his neck, "but everything changes, Toph."

"Even rocks?"

He nodded. "Even rocks."

He reaches out after a moment, pressing the rock deliberately into her hand and folding her fingers around it. For just an instant Toph savors the feeling of his fingers wrapped around hers—is it really only her that feels the shivers running up her arm, and how his hands fit so well with hers?—but then he pulls back, leaving her holding what's really just a small, smooth oval of igneous rock as if it were a diamond.

"I'm going to go find Katara," he says, starting away. He takes a step, and then turns back, looking at her. The sand's too blurry for her to picture his face, hard as she tries, and she doesn't dare move to get a better image.

"But… I mean, just think about it," he asks her, "okay? Toph?"

"Uh-huh," she agrees. "Sure. You got it."

Satisfied, he begins to jog back across the beach, dissolving from clarity into impressionism with every step away from her. Toph hesitates, running her fingers over this ancient, fire-stamped, water-carved stone, and then tucks it into her pocket.

_Think about it_, he told her.

He'll never know how much she does.

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**Now, it's not fluff, per say, but I felt extremely proud of knowing about igneous rocks... yeah. Well. I'm just cool like that. R&R, as always X)**


	18. How

**#86. How**

**A/U present-day (for the recond, Toph isn't blind here) and slightly OC as it's based **_**very very loosely**_** based on 'My Own Worst Enemy' by Lit (for all you Rock Band 2 junkies ^_^ Or, to be fair, maybe you really do know the band. I just cite Rock Band b/c I'm very much one of the junkie types). Not a songfic, though… hah—perish the thought…**

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Sokka was aware first of the pain.

He hurt, at that particular moment, in quite a lot of places, the first and foremost being the headache. There was a vicious pain that flooded his head with every pulse of blood through his temples, as if someone was jumping around in cleats inside his skull. He opened his mouth to attempt an '_ow_', followed by a swear, but the words were mangled by an uncooperative tongue, coming out best described as, "Bleehh…'

The motion of speech, however, seemed to jar his taste buds into action, and he was suddenly very much aware that his mouth tasted like something had crawled into it, vomited, and died. Something convulsed in his stomach, and in a moment, in spite of the newly intense pain of the headache, he was on his feet and looking for anywhere to puke where he wouldn't actively have to clean it up. The bathroom was closer than the kitchen sink, and he sprinted for it, gagging on the taste of alcohol.

His throat burned as the previous contents of his stomach spattered into the toilet, but there was quickly nothing left to throw up. Wiping his forehead—feeling but not quite registering a twinge of pain near his eye—he flushed the toilet, bending heavily over the sink. Not bothering to try anything more civilized, he turned on the water and bent to gulp straight from the faucet, spitting it immediately into the sink. Toph wouldn't really care.

Finally, most of the taste gone from his mouth, he wiped his hand on his sleeve, straightening up to look in the mirror.

And froze.

His first thought was to wonder if he'd pulled a Freaky Friday with Zuko. His hair was loose and disheveled, a bedhead that seemed to defy most of the laws of physics—only to be expected—but more than that, a swollen ring of purple had engulfed his left eye. He looked like a lopsided panda. Experimentally, he reached up gingerly to touch it, hissing in pain the moment he did. It was tender and raw, already a throbbing mass of yellow and indigo, and he couldn't remember for his life where he'd gotten it. He did, however, know that he hadn't had it yesterday.

Damn—what had _happened_ last night?

With sudden trepidation, he turned back to the room, and froze. Details he'd missed in his previous haste struck him like punches: a beer can knocked over, liquid stain already dried onto the floor; a cigarette butt on the ground, still glowing a faint orange; and, suddenly most important, the fact that there was no sign of Toph. Anywhere.

Sokka's heart leapt into his throat. Was she okay? If he was this hung over, there was a good chance she'd been drinking too—what if she'd gotten lost? Hurt? _Arrested?_

He was most worried about the last one because it had happened before, and because Toph, who was a volatile drunk, had left a very bad impression on the cop. Did she expect him to have picked her up by now? He gulped at the thought: there were few things more terrifying than a hung-over Toph who'd woken up in jail without anyone to bail her out. He would know.

He took a step, and something crunched under his foot. The first thing it told him, when he felt no stabbing pain, was that he hadn't even kicked off his shoes before passing out, but the second thing came when he looked down. He lifted his foot gingerly to find a fragment of white china splintered on the floor, and several more around it, as if someone had dropped a giant glass egg. He bent down and inspected it more closely, and after a headachy pause it came to him: a vase that had used to sit on the table across the room.

An explanation breached the surface of his mind like a corpse floating up through water, equally unwelcome and perhaps even more frightening. As a matter of fact, there was a tear in the wallpaper above him, about where his head would be, and this was about what the vase would look like if… if…

_If it had been thrown_, finished the corpse-y thought, with vindictive satisfaction.

Sokka took another look, this one laden with trepidation, around the room. The cigarette butt caught his eye, this time relevant. Neither he nor Toph smoked—she was determined not to stunt her already limited growth, and he couldn't breath in the smoke without gagging.

So who _did_ he know who smoked? It was a short list, and didn't take him long to come up with a name. Suki did.

So he'd been wicked drunk, and Suki had been here, and now Toph wasn't—and _someone_ had deemed it necessary to punch him in the eye in the last twelve hours…

There was no way, Sokka realized, this was going to end well.

He raced towards the door, nearly skidding to a halt when he saw the car parked lopsidedly in the middle of the lawn. Tire marks stood out, vivid as new-made scars, across the grass, probably irrevocable damage to the garden. He suspected the neighbors were wondering what had happened by now—although, knowing them, they were probably clucking their tongues and calling everyone else on the street to let them know _exactly_ what to think of that new boy from out of town and the Bei Fong girl.

He'd deal with that later. Toph's jacket was missing from the coat-stand, and her shoes absent from their usual dumping ground by the door. All of a sudden something clicked, or maybe shattered, and he spun frantically in a circle, scavenging for any trace of her. "Toph!" he shouted desperately, lurching towards the living room again. "_Toph!_"

He hadn't expected a reply; he'd just had to shout anyway, a last hail Mary. Regardless, his pessimism was just as well, because there was no response. The house was empty. He caught himself on the doorframe, shaking his head slowly. It couldn't have… he wouldn't actually have…

His phone caught his eye. It was blinking, the screen showing a small envelope, and under that text flashed '_2 new messages_'.

He reached for it with trepidation, flicking it open. The first text was from Suki.

_Damn_.

Fearfully, Sokka clicked on it, and a moment later closed his eyes in horror. She'd misspelled half the words—and since Suki was a meticulous texter, that meant she'd been _hammered_—but the intention was clear. He read it over with horror, well aware that a year or two ago, he would have found everything she was suggesting extremely hot.

Immediately, he pressed delete. _Destroying the evidence_, chimed in his mind, but he shoved the thought away. Didn't seem things could get worse now anyway.

_1 message from: Toph._

Oh, yes, they could.

He opened the message, blinking at the screen—reading was giving him a headache, but he didn't dare look away. The message was short and to the point.

_ katara's. don't come unless you're ready to apologize, asshole._

He stumbled to the couch, a sudden head rush accompanying a flash of what he could only assume was memory. _He'd lurched out of the car, all of them—Suki, Ty Lee, Haru… who else? It was all blurry—dying of laughter over the fact he'd parked in the middle of the yard. Suki clung to his arm as he made dizzily for the front door, shaking with irrepressible giggles. Halfway through the yard, she stumbled on a paving stone, but he caught her around the waist, stopping her mid-fall…_

_She straightened, and then suddenly their faces were hardly an inch apart…_

_And she closed her eyes, leaning in…_

"_What the _hell_?"_

_Light from the suddenly open front door engulfed him, and he blinked in surprise. Toph stood there, eyes wide and shocked, knuckles going white with anger as they tightened on the doorframe. "What the hell are you doing with her?" she demanded, as if it hadn't been obvious._

_Suki's face pinched. "He was_ my_ boyfriend first, bitch," she slurred, tugging Sokka protectively closer._

"_What did you call me?" Toph hissed, stepping closer. "You freaking _whore_! I—"_

_He saw her raising a hand, eyes blazing with murder, and stepped in front of Suki. "Toph, calm down," he drawled, grabbing at her wrist._

"_Get off," she hissed, eyes narrowing. "Let me go, now."_

"_It's okay," he insisted, leaning closer. "I love you waaay more, Toph—"_

"_Don't touch me!" she spat, and then he felt a blinding pain in his eye, and Suki was yelling, and he grabbed at the slamming door—_Toph, come back_—chasing her into the living room, and then something exploded near his head, and someone screeched, "Leave me alone!"_

_No_…

Suddenly unable to stand, Sokka collapsed against the wall and slid down to the floor, cradling the phone in his hands. His head shook ever so slightly as he read the words again, and then again, and then a fourth time as if they'd somehow change if he reread them enough.

They didn't.

_Don't come unless you're ready to apologize, asshole._

Sokka closed his eyes, hanging his head.

"Spirits," he whispered, and then, "I'm so sorry, Toph."

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**Well, it ain't fluff, but it's posted (counts for something, ay?) ^_^  
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	19. Outside

**#43. Outside**

**A spontaneous continuation of an idea I like more than I should have. As before, A/U where Toph isn't blind. Better if you read the last chapter, but 10-second briefing anyway: Sokka, drunk, fooled around with Suki & pissed Toph off, causing her to leave for Katara's, before he passed out drunk, woke up, puked, and remembered. Yeah X)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own AtLA.

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"Tea?"

"Hell, yes." The small, pale girl held out her hands to receive the mug, cradling it close to her chest for warmth. "What kind?"

"Just green." Her friend dropped onto the couch, tucking her feet delicately under her. "I'm out of all the good kinds. Gotta swing by Iroh's sometime."

"Iroh," sighed the first girl, taking a sip of tea. "Take me with you. I could use a little chat with him right now."

"What? Oh, no, no, no," disagreed the darker-skinned of the two girls. She was tall and willowy with bright blue eyes that, at the moment, were narrowed in anger. "_He_ needs to have a chat with Iroh. You're the _victim_ here. You are in no way required to discuss _anything_ with _anyone_."

"Except for you."

"Yeah, well. You're living at my house. And drinking my tea."

"And?"

"And he's my _brother_?" she offered, rolling her eyes. "It's my job to know about his screwups."

The paler girl shook her head, taking a large gulp of tea as if she were knocking back a shot. Something about the motion hinted that perhaps she'd have preferred to be drinking something stronger, but her friend made no comment. "You have no idea," she replied with a sigh, wiping her mouth.

There was a pause, and then the darker girl shook her head despairingly. "God, Sokka is such a dick sometimes."

Toph was about to raise an eyebrow—_just _sometimes_?_—but something stopped her. A flash of motion out the window had caught her eye, and her head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing as she realized what it was. Katara followed her gaze, eyes flying open as she, too, took in the figure making his way up to her door.

"He did _not_!" she breathed, scrambling towards the other end of the couch for a better look. "He's here? _Already_?"

Toph closed her eyes, covering her face with a hand. "I'm not even looking."

"He's got flowers!" Katara gasped. "He brought you _roses_. God, red ones—those are, like, fifty dollars a dozen. I didn't know he knew what a florist _was_."

"Probably asked Suki," Toph muttered, sinking even further into the armchair and taking another swig of tea. Katara paused at that, sobering slightly. Toph didn't blame her for being shocked—she herself was surprised about the roses—but Katara had briefly needed reminding that no matter what Sokka had paid for the flowers, it wasn't nearly enough.

They both hesitated, the air heavy with apprehension, before a bang shattered the silence. The front door was behind Toph, and she shrank into her armchair as though it were a barricade. Someone was whaling on the door with the extremely beautiful ornamental knocker. Katara flinched with each blow, closing her eyes.

"Toph?" called a distinctly nervous voice. "Toph, I know you're there. Please, I need to talk to you."

Katara picked herself up, allowing Toph no time to do anything but to curl further into her armchair. She yanked the door open a crack, finding a plainly worse-for-wear Sokka standing on the stoop. The roses were as beautiful as they had looked, but Katara ignored them—there were much more important things, i.e., her _**door**_, to worry about.

"Katara—!"

"It's called a doorbell, asshole," she informed him tartly, shutting the door in his face with a click.

For a moment there was silence—where Toph bit back a snicker, and presumably Sokka searched for the bell—before an insistent ringing pierced their ears, a thoroughly obnoxious _dingdingdingdingding_ that forced both girls to cover her ears. Fuming, Katara jerked the door back open. Sokka didn't seem to notice for a few moments, too absorbed with the bell, and she spoke over it.

"God, what are you, six? Stop it!"

He jumped and lowered his hand, frowning anxiously. "Katara!" he blurted. "Is Toph there?"

"She doesn't want to talk to you," snapped his sister, eyes narrowing. "How about you come back when you're not hung over?"

That caught him off guard, and he ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. Katara began to push the door shut, nearly succeeding before Sokka stuck out a foot, catching it partway.

"Katara," he protested weakly. "Please—I brought her flowers."

Katara paused, ducking away from Sokka's view. "He says he has flowers," she murmured to Toph, quietly enough to leave Sokka oblivious.

"Tell him I hate flowers," Toph muttered, crossing her arms sullenly. "Tell him red roses are stupid and cliché and that he's a bastard. And," she added as an afterthought, "that he should have brought chocolate."

Katara turned back to her brother, raising an eyebrow. "_She_ says she doesn't _want _flowers."

"Don't paraphrase!" Toph protested from behind her. "_Stupid! Cliché! Bastard!_"

Both of them heard her shout, but Sokka was the first to react. "She's there?" he demanded, eyes widening. "_There?_ Toph!" He craned his neck, shoving to see past Katara. "Toph, please, just come talk to me."

"God! Calm down!" she yelped, shoving him back. "Just go away, okay?"

He shot one hopeful glance back at her, but then his eyes settled on his sisters' face, finally registering the deep disgust there. He deflated, shoulder slumping as if they suddenly bore the weight of the world. Even if it had been a sympathy ploy, it would have been a damn good one, and Katara found herself weakening despite everything.

"Toph?" she called, and her friend peered around the corner of the armchair. Katara motioned her over with a jerk of her head. Toph mouthed something explicit, crossed her arms, and looked away stubbornly. Katara waited.

True to form, a moment later Toph heaved herself out of the chair, stalking towards the door. Katara—suddenly feeling like she'd done her part and had certainly earned the right to move out of the line of fire—ducked into the living room an instant before Toph jerked open the door.

_Sprits_, was her first impression—he looked pathetic. But at least, she mused, admiring his fantastic black eye, she could still throw a good punch if she had to. "Toph!" he yelped. "I mean… I mean… flowers." He thrust the roses hopefully—or perhaps desperately—at her. She eyed them skeptically, making no move to accept them.

"You're going to need to do a _lot_ freaking better than that."

"Okay," he nodded. "Okay. Look, Toph, you have every right to be angry—"

"I know."

"Toph," he insisted. "Please. Toph, I was a jerk. I didn't think about what I was doing, and I'm so, so sorry, Toph. I don't know how I can ever make it up to you, but I'm going to try. I would never had done it if I'd been thinking—Toph, I love you so much more than I've ever loved her, and you're so much more important to me. Please… give me a chance to make it up to you." Again, he offered her the roses, this time with slightly more composure. Katara, who had tried not to listen or get involved, but come on—he was her _brother_—crossed her fingers.

Toph stared.

"Teo," she said finally, "knew that I don't like roses."

Sokka, against his better intentions, felt a flood of anger rising up in him like bile. She was bringing up her crippled ex-boyfriend? _Really_? God, _Teo_—the kid lived in his basement, for Spirits' sake, playing with Tinkertoys. Even Sokka in all his smashed, what-happened-last-night glory was a better option than _Teo_. "What?" he snapped, eyebrows flying up and sending a twinge of pain flickering through the bruised eye. "God, Toph—I'm trying to apologize, and you're bringing up your ex?"

"Least I'm not bringing _home_ my ex," she shot back, scowling. "Why don't you give her the roses instead, Sokka? I'm sure she _loves_ them."

And she slammed shut the door, leaving it bare inches from his face. Sokka blinked, jaw slack and eyes about the size of dinner plates, and then wilted. They'd been expensive, the roses. He had tried.

No, he hadn't. He'd tried what would work with Suki. This wasn't Suki—she wouldn't take him back like that… or now… or maybe ever, in all honesty.

Well, with Suki, it had been a good starting point to get her hammered…

He forced the thought away. Even he knew that was a _really _bad idea. He'd screwed himself over royally—it was going to be up to him to dig himself out of this one. And if truth be told, he was usually only good at digging himself deeper.

After a moment's deliberation, he slammed the roses down on the stoop, before turning away. He was so distracted as he wandered gloomily back down the front walk that he almost didn't his phone vibrate in his pocket. Halfheartedly, he dug it out, before frowning at the display: _New message from Katara._ He debated a moment before flipping open his phone. Her text was short and concise.

_U want my help?_

He hesitated, reasonable skepticism. _Rly?_

_Dark chocolate_, she replied. _Think romantic, but still sincere. U did good this time—more of tht, but personal, kk?_ A pause, and then she added, _But for God's sake, no more flowers, stupid._

_Ur helping me?_

_Thank me later,_ she answered, and he could almost see her smiling as she typed._ I like chocolate too._

Inside the house, Katara slid her phone into her pocket as Toph slouched back into the room. She collapsed into an armchair, eyeing her friend.

"Was I too harsh?" she demanded suddenly. "I mean, he tried. Roses are expensive."

Katara paused, chewing on her tongue. "He did try," she agreed diplomatically, before hoisting herself out of her chair, sauntering unexpectedly towards the front door. Toph closed her eyes, hanging her head, and made to ignore Katara until something dropped into her lap.

"I'm going to reheat this tea," Katara announced, picking up the china cups, and meandered into the kitchen, leaving Toph still holding a bouquet of bright red roses.

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**Going to be in 3 parts b/c I'm having fun with this. Reviews are always great (more so than roses, anyway...)**


	20. Ceasefire

**#20. Ceasefire**

**Read Romeo and Juliet last year in English--never thought I'd actually need it. Oh contraire...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tla (or Shakespeare)  


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**_If you haven't read at least the last chapter, do. None of this will make sense otherwise. Like, really-- just humor me _^_^**

Toph was in Katara's guest room when the Shakespeare started.

The window was open a crack, because it was one of those summer evenings where it was still 70 degrees out by 6:30, and at that point, why the hell wouldn't you want to enjoy that? Of course, if she'd really wanted to enjoy it, she might have gone outside, but in here she had a TV and _Friends_ was on. She wasn't really watching, but it was nice to have some background noise. Only thing wrong with Katara's house was that it got too effing _quiet_ when she was the only one here, and too hard to ignore the roses _he'd_ left in the middle of the living room.

Katara had gone out, by now a couple hours ago. Apparently she'd had plans with Aang or something: while Toph complained halfheartedly about being abandoned, for the most part she'd just tuned out the explanation. Listening to Katara describe her and Twinkletoes's picture-perfect relationship was a little beyond her just about now.

She'd been half-asleep when something clicked against the window. She blinked, frowning. This was a second-story room.

Probably a bird flying into the glass or something. _Stupid animals,_ she thought, and rolled over, getting comfortable again.

_Click_.

That wasn't a bird—or at least, if it was, birds were either getting blind or significantly stupider than already. She hopped off the bed, shoving up the window and glancing outside.

Below her, someone cleared their throat.

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Ju—and Toph is the sun!"

_Oh, Spirits._

"Romeo, Romeo—wherefore art thou, Romeo?" she exclaimed, pressing her hands to her heart. "For wherever thou might be, _it's not far enough, bastard_."

Sokka's eyebrows furrowed as he flipped hurriedly through the book in his hands. "'What lady's that? O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!' Eh… 'See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!'"

"I'm not touching my _cheek_, perv," she replied, moving her hands quickly from her chest. "God, do you even know what happens to Romeo at the end of the play?"

"Yes!" he replied indignantly. "He… oh. _Oh_. Hey!" He frowned. "Look, it's not my fault! _This_," he announced, brandishing the book, "is the stuff romance is made of!"

That did it. A snicker that had been building in Toph's stomach, starting around the time she heard the awkward but determined Old English drifting up to her window, burst from her lips. "The stuff romance is made of?" she demanded through laughter that, suddenly, couldn't be contained. "The stuff… oh my God…"

She leaned her head against the windowsill, shaking with noiseless mirth. Sokka watched, half embarrassed—_it had sounded fine when _Katara _described it that way! Hadn't she told him romantic was good?_—but mostly just enjoying the sound of her laugh. She didn't giggle; it simply had never been a Toph-like thing to do. When she laughed, she really laughed, an expression of such pure entertainment he couldn't help but smile.

It subsided, though, and when she'd finished she looked back down at him, her expression telling him she was reminding herself why she was angry. "Wait," he said, holding up a hand. "Because I can keep reading, if you're going to yell at me."

Her gray-green eyes narrowed. "Do you honestly think you _don't_ deserve it?"

Sokka took a deep breath. "I know I deserve whatever you've got to say," he replied diplomatically. "So if you really want to say it, you can. But I'm sorry, Toph—I know, you know, how sorry I am. And I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Also," he added hopefully, "I have chocolate this time. Dark chocolate."

He paused, bracing himself. Toph's eyes widened, but she was unmoved when she spoke. "You," she observed flatly, "are _dreaming_."

When he hesitated, she snorted. "The phrase you're looking for," she continued, "is, 'True, I talk of dreams/ which are the children of an idle brain/ begot of nothing but _vain fantasy_.'"

He was well aware that, in some respects, Toph was smarter than him. Of course, he was better at some things: they both knew he was the science-y one, and many times she'd eyed his notes from his physics classes, looking impressed. On the other hand, though, she'd read (_and_ reread) nearly every famous book he'd ever heard of, and then some. Before, Sokka had thought it was really clever to reference Shakespeare, but he hadn't realized she knew it quite so well. He'd only really read Acts 1 and 2...

But, actually, he realized, that _might_ just be enough.

"How well _do_ you know Romeo and Juliet?" he asked. The question came out offhand, just how he'd wanted it.

She took the change of pace in stride, rolling her eyes. "I always lose interest after Mercutio dies."

"So you know the part were Romeo and Juliet meet?"

She eyeballed him, trying and failing to predict where he was headed. "Sure," she replied carefully.

"And about Rosaline?"

"… Uh-huh?"

"So you know how Romeo thinks he loves Rosaline before, right?" This time, he didn't wait for her to answer. "But then he sees Juliet, and he _knows_." He paused, making sure she was looking at him as he spoke. "Toph," he said, "I _know_. Because Romeo says"—_oh, Spirits, get it right—_"'did my heart love until now', and that's what I mean. I love you, not anyone else, and just because I made a mistake doesn't make that any less true. You're the only person I care about—you'll have to believe me eventually, because I'm not going to leave, even if you want me to. I don't want anyone else. I want _you_, okay? No matter what it takes."

There was a pause. He couldn't read Toph's face any more: she had this thing she did sometimes where she closed off all of a sudden, eyes going rock-solid and he couldn't read a thing off her expression. "That's my apology," he added unnecessarily, and crossed his fingers behind his back. _Please._

"That's _all_ you're planning?" He might have imagined it, but the faintest grin seemed to be twitching on her lips against all her efforts. "Act one," she said, "scene five. 'Palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss—but have saints not lips?'"

It took him a second to find the passage, but only an instant after that to realize he was all but in the clear. "'Aye,'" he replied hopefully, almost managing to ignore the fact that he was reading Juliet's part, "'lips they use in prayer.'"

"'Oh, then,'" she quoted, now clearly smirking, "'let lips do what hands do.'"

"'Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake,'" he read, not feeling half as chaste as the passage. Toph smiled.

"'Then move not,'" she answered, and turned away from the window. Ten seconds it took for her to reappear, ten awful seconds where he wondered if she'd planned this all out to hurt him back, but then she appeared at the back door. He rushed towards her, but she raised a hand, freezing him in place.

"The chocolate?" she prompted.

"Oh!" He turned, glancing around, and then reached for the box he'd placed on the lawn table, presenting it with a hopeful flourish. She eyed it approvingly, and then looked back up at him.

"Way to pick the corny play," she remarked, the spark in her eyes telling him she wasn't quite offended. He grinned.

"Good corny?"

"Just enough," she allowed. "Of course, if you were to keep quoting now…"

"'Thus from my lips," he began, "by thine—"

She leant in to cut him off abruptly. Sokka melted instantly into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. _Romeo and Juliet _dropped to the ground, flopping shut on the grass. Katara, peering eagerly from around the edge of the house—because she'd been far too involved, on principle, to back out—pressed her hands to her mouth and bit down a squeal. Once satisfied, however, she turned to hurry inside. After all, the roses were going to need to be put in a vase.

She allowed herself a faint smile as she glanced back towards the yard. She'd done well—Sokka, God love him, was never going to appreciate how helpful little sisters could be.

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**It's a part 3 of 3, so it really does make more sense if you read the last two chapters. But to each their own. Reviews are always awesome--come on: I reread _Shakespeare_ for you guys ^_^**


	21. Talent

**#57. Talent**

**A bittersweet project: fun to quote-unquote "research" for this (ie, break out the air-guitar), but writing this made me miss Guitar Hero X)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA or Guns N' Roses.**

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The backstage was in uproar, a mixtape of every and any Guitar Hero setlist being played at once. Wires and cables ran like pythons along the floor, and every available surface not plastered with famous, faded faces held an instrument case or some singer/guitarist/bassist/drummer frantically running through their notes. For somewhere behind Sokka drifted the sound of a kickass guitar solo—ZZ Top, he was pretty sure—and the screams of the crowd half-high on music and mostly high on whatever they'd just snorted.

Matter of fact, he might be smoking a joint with the rest of them, but for the fact that he was on in fifteen, and his guitar solo was killing him. He wasn't Kurt Cobain, but he damn well still had to be out there pretending he was. Stuffing a hand in his pocket and running the other impatiently through his hair, he shoved past a Blondie look-alike who was humming to herself_—"One way, or another, I'm gonna see ya, I'm gonna meet ya meet ya meet ya meet ya!"_—and towards the door. He needed a smoke.

The alley was cold and shockingly quiet, the aural equivalent plunging into a pool of ice water. He slammed the stage door shut behind him, slumping against it. The streetlights by the road only lit up the edge of the alley, and the only other illumination was the neon sign buzzing above his head. He stood in a faint pool of red, erratic light, only able to make out the area around the door. A dumpster next to him was heaped with week-old Asian takeout and beer cans and some nasty shit he didn't even want to think about, and across from him, a collage of graffiti and ripped concert posters leapt out from the brick wall: Jackson Polluck, high on New York.

"Spot's taken, dude."

He started at the voice, turning around. A figure was leaning against the brick wall a couple yards away. At first he couldn't see her, only a small circle of orange that lit up as he eyed it, but then she exhaled, blowing a cloud of blue smoke, and he recognized a cigarette. The circle of light caught only her feet: she was wearing trashed Converse, mint-green and every inch scribbled with Sharpie.

He expected her to continue, but she simply stayed there, leaning against the bricks. He took out his own cigarette after a moment, flicking on his lighter. "So, what brings you to the show tonight?" he asked finally, feeling the need to break the silence. After all, for all he knew she was hot—this could be one good way to take his mind off the solo. "Got a boyfriend in the band?"_ Establish mutual single-ness—always the first move._

"The hell I do," she retorted. "My boyfriend's here for _my_ band."

Zero for two—she was a musician after all, and she was taken. But that wasn't really a problem: most of the musicians he knew didn't really worry about 'taken-ness'. "Sweet," he drawled, in a tone of voice that translated it into '_hot_'. "Which one?"

"The one that's gonna kick your band's ass."

She talked coolly, rapping off comebacks like a drummer holding the beat. Between that and her audible monotone, Sokka got the irritating sense he was only receiving a fraction of her attention. "Got any money to put where your mouth is?" he challenged.

"Money?" The girl—for lack of ideas, he decided to call her Converse—shook her head. "Like I'd be living here if I had cash? Dude, I've got _skill_ where my mouth is." Her voice went lower, slightly mischievous, as she added, "Anyone here can vouch I'm good with my hands."

Oh, she was definitely smirking. He did a double-take: was she actually flirting, or… no, he realized, watching her take a drag on the cigarette and purse her lips as she exhaled. Messing with him. Whatever—two can play, and all that.

"Yeah?" he wondered. "What kind of skill?"

"I'm multitalented."

"Go figure." He grinned crookedly, making sure to let his eyes linger on her face, even though he couldn't make it out. She had a hot voice, and he was willing to bet that whatever was currently hidden by the shadows was good, considering how she was talking. "So want to convince me exactly how good your hands are?"

For the first time, Converse glanced over for more than a second, eyeing him in a long, slow, head-to-foot motion. The red light gleamed, vamp-goth style, off her eyes. "That blows," she said finally. "Pretty bad taste for pervs _and _emo hair to be in at the same time."

Low blow. He reached up to his head self-consciously, before realizing he was only proving her point when she snickered. "This doesn't seem fair," he pointed out. "You've got an advantage, if you can insult me and I can't even see you."

She paused, taking a deep lungful of smoke, and then shrugged. "Fine," she replied, flicking the cigarette butt off into the shadows. She turned towards him, taking a couple steps into the light.

She was short, he realized straight off—couldn't be more than 5'3 to his six-foot-something. Her hair was cut short and spiky, Goth black that looked surprisingly natural, and her eyes, a faded gray-green, glowed in her pale face. Multiple piercings gleamed along her ears and at the edge of one eyebrow. She wore a bright green bandanna around her neck, cowboy-style, and skinny black jeans hugged her legs.

He took all that in in an instant, though, because—unusually—it wasn't really what he was interested in. As soon as he'd put together a rough picture, his gaze moved to her hands—those, above all else, could tell him what her instrument was. Her fingers, he noted automatically, were small and childlike. Besides, as if it hadn't been already obvious she wouldn't make a guitarist, they were also slathered in a ridiculous amount of jewelry, dripping with silver that glinted in the dim light.

No, Converse was a drummer type, maybe. Leastways, she had the mouth for it. And he could definitely see her in the back of the stage, whaling on a kit. Yeah—that worked. Drummer. Pretty hot.

"Comments?" she wondered, grinning. She had a cute smile—smug-ish, but cute. "I'm shaking in my boots, here."

"Hmm," he murmured, putting a hand on his chin for effect. "How about, been a Hot Topic model long?"

"Nah," she answered, not missing a beat. "They couldn't keep me. I kept making all the other girls jealous."

"So you picked up the cowgirl vibe instead."

"Dude. You see this hair?" She shook her head, letting the spikes of black ruffle up around her face. "No cowgirl has hair this sick."

"No shit," he muttered. "It'd scare the horses."

To his surprise, Converse laughed, giving a lopsided grin. "Touché," she conceded. "Which, by the way, is French for, like, 'congratulations, you're not as retarded as you look'."

"Jesus," he muttered, leaning his head back and staring up between the building. A light mist was grazing his face, announcing rain-to-be. "Don't think I've ever gotten dissed by a band chick this many time in five minutes."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey." She held up her ring-slathered hands, suddenly looking intensely serious. "I'm not a 'band chick'. Those are the sluts who hang out at these things and hook up with the guitarists once they're smashed."

Sokka, who had previously been rolling inward eyes, cringed slightly at that—it was somewhat _too_ true for comfort. "_I_," declared Converse, drawing herself up to her full height—it wasn't very tall—"am a _rock star_. You've never been dissed by a _rock star_ this much before_._"

"Someone's touchy," he observed, not quite sure how to respond. She sounded chill again, but it seemed easy to piss her off. "You, like, a psycho-feminist, or what?"

"The hell?" A corner of her mouth curled up in amusement. "Dude, you're not listening. I don't give a shit about your band chicks. I'm just not one of them."

"I'm gonna hear you play before I make any calls on that."

"Whatever." She tossed her head, flicking hair out of her eyes. "I look like a band chick?"

He let his gaze move across her face, taking in her Goth-black lips and the smoky edges of her eyes. "No," he replied boldly. "They're usually not as hot."

Converse looked carefully up at him, tilting her head to the side as if a different angle might help her read him better. Eventually she grinned slightly, an edge of bright pink tongue poking between her teeth.

"I lied."

He frowned. "Huh?"

"My boyfriend's not here. Well, he is, but not for me. And he's actually my ex."

"Yeah?"

"He cheated. Band chick," she added venomously.

"He's an idiot."

There was a brief silence. Sokka had spoken utterly without thinking, but knew it had to be the truth. He'd hooked up with groupies, sure, but he'd never actually been dating a girl like Converse at the time—or _ever _been dating a girl like her, actually. She was an unusual kind of hot, not quite tall enough to be leggy nor stacked enough to be, well, _stacked_, but hot nonetheless. She stared at him, looking even more curious than a moment before, but then clapped her hands suddenly, straightening up.

"Well," she declared. "This has been a great way to kill fifteen minutes, but—"

"Fifteen?" he yelped, dropping the cigarette. "Shit!" He spun for the door, yanking at the handle. "Shit, shit, shit, shit—"

"Christ," she wondered, "what's your damage? Oh—and it's a pull, not push."

Finally he managed to yank the door open, stumbling in. "I'm on," he gasped. "Shit, I'm late…"

"I'll come watch." She sauntered in after him, and he caught a glimpse of her leaning on the doorway as he scrambled inside. "Good luck."

He ran, and by the time it occurred to him that maybe he should have replied, she was gone.

* * *

He still wasn't Kurt Cobain by the end of their songs, but he could have been worse. Teo and Aang ditched after their set; the latter, incidentally, was with Katara, and suddenly looking a lot less tired. Sokka was cool with it, though—his biggest concern was more disappointment that the _bassist_ was getting more action than him.

Eventually it was just him and Suki left—she'd been their front man, so to speak, and really had done a hell of a job with the song. She hadn't asked him why he'd been so intent on staying after, either. That was the great thing about Suki: she always seemed to know when something was up with him, but knew far better than to ask.

But he'd almost given up—who knew? Maybe Converse was just full of shit—when, at one thirty-three exactly, he saw her again.

She was third onto the stage. First came a tall, pale boy with shaggy dark hair and his own bandanna: this one red, tied eyepatch-style over his left eye. Second out was a wild-eyed kid with carrot-colored Einstein hair. Incidentally, the redhead seemed to have lost his shirt, but he was ripped, full-on six-pack. Suki wolf-whistled loudly, and wasn't the only one.

Sokka watched, interested. Eyepatch had made straight for the mic—no surprise; he looked like a singer—but to his surprise, Redhead had the drumsticks, spinning them in blurs of white through his spindly fingers. Then Converse…

Then _Converse_, it seemed, was going to prove him wrong on everything. She had an acid green Fender Stratocaster slung over her shoulder, and swung it around to her hands as she reached her spot. A leggy, dark-haired girl wearing black and red and a hell of a lot of leather, took up the bass; she glanced towards Converse, and Sokka's new friend responded by slamming down on the strings.

The chord hit like an earthquake, prompting an explosion of cheers. Eyepatch grabbed the mic double-handed, pulling it close to his mouth.

"Hey everyone," he said, low and grinning, and Suki screamed in response, along with most of the girls. Converse had already started to play in a murmur, skittery chords echoing as her hands jumped along the frets. She hadn't shed any of her rings, but she was moving regardless, fingers going triple-speed to compensate for length, or lack thereof. "Those of you who don't know who's up here," continued Eyepatch, "we're Blind Bandit, and we're hoping you're ready to _rock!_"

Converse slammed into her first real chord, and he knew the song instantly. "_Slash!_" he heard several peoples bark, and whooped with the crowd as she launched into a riff. The other girl was holding steady on the bass, and Converse dug in her fingers, hands blurs of silver on the strings. The music rose, faster and more intense each second, until, pausing just a second at the peak, she came racing down into the riff. Eyepatch grabbed the mic, jerking it to his mouth.

"_Welcome to the jungle—we got fun and games…_"

Converse was flawless. Eyepatch turned towards her once in the second verse—"_And you're a very sexy girl_," he sang, grinning, "_very hard to please_"—and she kept the undertone steady, fingers working like pistons as she smirked back, mouthing, "Hell, yeah!"

And her solo. He didn't even want to_ start_ on her solo. Because he thought he'd been decent, but Converse had been right—she had money where her mouth was. She bent over the Stratocaster, fingers catching notes and pinning them to the frets, even holding her own in the eerie high section where every note hit high and fell like a slide whistle. Suki leant over once to comment, "_Damn_—good guitarist," and it was all he could do to nod. Converse's ex really was a retard.

* * *

He was waiting when she and the rest of them left the building, maybe an hour later. Zuko saw her looking at him and raised his good eyebrow, but Bumi leered out loud, catcalling, "Yo, T, who's the cutie?" from behind her. June rolled her eyes, slugging him in the shouder—_cut T some slack, dickhead_—and he mock-flinched dramatically. They all ignored him.

"Who's the guy, T?" Zuko wondered, too-casual, and she rolled her eyes.

"Chill, _dad_," she muttered. "I'm fine."

He eyed her briefly, and then shrugged. "We'll get the van," he told her, jamming his hands into his pockets. With a jerk of his head, he motioned June and Bumi away towards the corner where they'd parked, and Toph turned to the boy from the alley.

"_We're stupid—entertain us_?" she wondered, quoting his song. He hadn't done badly with it, either—the solo in _Teen Spirit _was a bitch. "Didn't have you pegged for a Nirvana fan."

"Didn't have you pegged for Slash," he replied. "You were sick out there."

"Told you I was good," she shrugged, but she was grinning. There was a pause.

"So…"

"So…?"

"So I was wondering... if you wanted to, like… hang out, some time?"

"Hang out?"

"Yeah, you know," he replied. "Don't get to spend a lot of time with actual rock stars."

"_T! Come on!"_

She flipped the finger to Bumi, who was hanging out of the passenger window, and turned to the alley boy. "Dude, I gotta go. Can I…" She broke off, glancing around. "Got a pencil?"

He paused, rifling through his jacket pocket, before pulling out a pen. "What for?"

Converse reached across calmly to the lamppost, ripping off one of the concert posters there. "Autograph," she replied without looking up, scrawling something rapidly onto the paper. "From a rock star, right?"

"_T! The hell're you doing?"_

"I'm effing _coming_," she snapped back, before pressing the flyer into Sokka's hand. "See ya," she muttered, turning away and sprinting for the van. "Chill out, Bumi—_Christ_," was the last thing he heard before they peeled away from the sidewalk, lurching out in front of a taxi.

He unfolded the paper. There was a name—_Toph_—and beneath that, a number. He turned it over to find four words on the back. It took him a moment to decipher her handwriting, and then he grinned, stuffing the note in his pocket.

_Welcome to the jungle_, it said.

This was going to be fun.

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**This was fun to write ;) For the record, a) Bumi in Toph's band is young, not creepy old here, and b) The song is 'Welcome to the Jungle' by Guns N' Roses--which has been stuck in my head for the last 2 days. R&R, please: reviews are even more inspiring than coffee ^_^**


	22. Drunk

**#78. Drunk**

**I remember hearing people describe writing/uploading/posting at 1 AM and laughing to myself at them ("oh, those silly sleep-deprived people.") Irony's a wonderful educator.**

**Anyone ever seen Dead Like Me? It's a hilarious and morbid (hilarious_ly_ morbid?) TV show, and this was originally written about the main character and her hot British drug-addict/semi-love-interest. But it translates...  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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Toph woke up to someone banging on her door.

Instantly, it annoyed her, because she'd been having a great dream. She'd been back in Earth Rumble, aged twelve—spirits, that was a lifetime ago now—and fighting off some steroid-pumped, rock-headed challenger. Pummeling him, in fact, was probably more accurate. The crowd was going wild: "_Bandit, bandit, bandit…!"_…

But then a giant cracking had startled her. She'd felt a massive, splintering pressure from the roof above her, and had time to make out the form of a Fire Nation airship crunching directly through the arena walls. Chunks of ceiling had begun to crash around her, banging against the ground and sending too much noise running through her head for her to concentrate—but then, somehow, she'd felt one of them above her head, falling straight towards her, and she had no time to stop it…

And then she jerked awake, panting for breath, in time to realize she hadn't totally imagined the banging. What had been falling ceilings a moment ago was now the fists of someone pounding on her door and subsequently asking for trouble. Thoughts flew through her head—robbery, landlord, Katara having found out who'd pulled the latest Ultimate Epic Prank last week—as she stood, shoving off the blankets. None of them were particularly appealing, but they all felt better then what it actually was. In actuality, she jerked open the door to find a disheveled and pathetic-looking man who was swaying on the spot, with a heart rate way too fast to be good for him.

"Toph?" he slurred, heart jumping and then resuming its erratic little jig.

"_Sokka?_" she demanded, suddenly acutely aware she was in her worn old pajamas. Then again, he didn't seem to have noticed, and she heaved an inward sigh of despair. She'd stayed fairly close to her war friends—Zuko most of all, but Aang too, and sometimes even Katara—but Sokka she'd drifted from, generally because of the gag reflex involving him and Suki. She was still his friend, sort of, but he did come with burdens lately. Exhibit A, right in front of her.

Katara said it was Hadoka's death—about a year ago now; rogue firebenders, nasty business all round—that had sent her brother over the edge. Toph was concerned, naturally, but it was hard to be sympathetic for an addict when he showed up on your doorstep after midnight, stoned out of his mind.

"Toph," he repeated, a statement rather than a question this time. The next moment, he lurched unexpectedly, catching himself on the doorframe. He broke out in a barking, almost mad laugh for a moment—honestly, it creeped her out a little bit—but then sobered spontaneously, head rising again to focus on her. "Can I come… in?"

"Yeah, sure," she murmured uncertainly, moving out of the way. He let go of his death grip on the doorframe, stumbled, and grabbed the door itself. Unfortunately, it was not so stationary, and he fell forward, slamming the front door behind him with a crash.

"Heh," he chuckled slowly, collapsing against the door and sliding to the ground. "Toph, everything's spinning…"

"Spirits, Sokka," she hissed, bending down next to him. "How stoned are you?"

"'M fine," he insisted, "but spinning… I'm dizzy…" His head lolled slightly, turning to eye the walls, which were presumably whirling around him. After a moment his muscles went limp, and a faraway grin began to split his face like a fault line.

Toph sighed. "And whose fault is that?" she wondered, but looped an arm under his, supporting some of his weight. She planted her feet and tried in vain to heave him off the ground, grunting with effort.

"New respect for Zuko," she muttered, as she attempted to stand. When Sokka remained utter dead weight on her shoulder, she elbowed him fiercely in the side. "C'mon, Sokka, get _up_."

And he did this time, slumping halfway to his feet and staggering along beside her. She got as far as the couch, and then slipped her arm away, letting him crumple onto it. He did so immediately.

"Why here?" she asked tiredly, as she took a seat near him. "Why not Aang's…"

_No,_ she realized, _not Aang's, because if Katara saw her brother like this she'd go into conniptions._ "Why not Zuko's place or something?" she amended. After all, despite the fact that Zuko was the honest-to-Spirits Fire Lord, he and Sokka were pretty good friends, and the firebender had protected him from the wrath of Katara more than once.

Sokka frowned, looking as if that hadn't occurred to him. "Don't know. Closer to here… I think. Looking for my favorite… favorite girl…"

His voice trailed off, and Toph felt a pang of disappointment. "Suki lives three streets over," she said matter-of-factly, looking away.

"No…" he disagreed. She felt his head turn against the back of the sofa, until he was staring at her, radiating confusion. "You're right here."

Toph stared at him. For some reason, she was having trouble mustering words. "_I'm_ your fav—I mean, you were looking for me?"

"Knew you'd help me," he declared placidly.

"_Really?_" Because, Toph speculated, if the impression she'd been giving was 'yeah, I love helping out stoners in the middle of the night; screw sleeping', then she had some serious image issues. Very, _very_ serious ones.

But Sokka was completely unperturbed, or maybe just obtuse. "Also"—he grinned goofily, flopping back against the sofa arm—"I missed you."

"Ah." She leaned back too, nodding slowly. "Did you, now."

"Yeah…" he drawled. "We don't spend enough time together."

"By time, you mean time when you're sober?"

He stuck out his tongue. "You're grouchy."

"It's _two in the morning_."

"Best time of day!" he replied brightly, flinging out his arms. He knocked a lamp from the side table; Toph shifted her foot an inch, and a two-foot section of floor turned to sand, cushioning the lamp's fall. Sokka stared after it; judging from the tensed muscles and his gaping jaw, he was looking as if he'd just witnessed an Avatar-worthy miracle.

"So, no particular reason you came?" she wondered. "Besides a lack of quality time and to urge to break my furniture?"

He turned back to her, still with that stupid smile. "You're pretty when you're mad," he observed unexpectedly.

To her horror, Toph felt a faint blush warming her cheeks. "And you're candid when you're smashed," she deadpanned, crossing her arms.

There was a pause, but then to her shock he reached forward, touching her cheek just beside her eye. Toph was too stunned to move, shocked beyond doing anything but tensing as his fingers brushed her face. "You know what's really pretty about you? Your eyes," he supplied, without giving her a chance to form a reply. "I mean, they can't see, so they're always really still, but they're a really cool color. Like, green and gray, but _at the same time_." He spoke reverently, as if her eyes were the single most incredible thing in the whole world, and Toph had to forcibly remind herself how high her best friend was. "And your hair's all dark, so they stand out. I've never seen eyes like yours."

"Green and gray," she echoed skeptically. "That supposed to mean anything to me?"

"Just sayin'," he maintained, shrugging. "You're pretty, is all."

"Yeah," she muttered. "If you can tell me that again when you're not smashed, maybe I'll listen then."

He was silent for a long pause, and then, abruptly, he let out a ground-shaking snore. Toph winced and then rolled her eyes for no one's benefit, shifting away from him. With some effort, she managed to stand and drag his legs up onto the sofa. His feet stuck out a good foot past the other arm, but it'd just have to do. He should be grateful for anything right now.

Self-entitled bastard. She was definitely leaving him on the stoop next time.

But because it was already there, thrown over the sofa's back, she tugged a blanket over him halfheartedly. He rolled over in his sleep, smacking his lips contentedly. Toph paused, lingering next to the sofa, before her own scorn caught up with her. What was she going to do, kiss his forehead?

If she were ever that cliché, then someone better shoot her, and fast. She turned for her room, flopped onto her bed, and closed her eyes.

But about two minutes later, she reappeared in the living room, pillow under her arm and comforter dragged behind her. Sokka was still out cold, now with all four of four limbs sticking awkwardly to any side they could find. She collapsed into an armchair, pulling the comforter around her, and curled up in a ball, well aware her back would pay for this tomorrow morning. She was one hell of a good friend, she decided, and, pleased with the thought, she snuggled into the armchair with a smile.

A few minutes later, despite his snoring—or maybe because of it—she was fast asleep.

* * *

**Just a little more chill than last week's fic. You know. Reviews are always appreciated ^_^**

**Oh, and on a totally different note--did anyone see the new Avatar trailer yet? Please don't tell me I'm the only fangirl who flipped out when it came on... X)  
**


	23. Hunt

**#95. Hunt**

**Ever wonder what the Gaang does for fun in their spare time?  


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It was quiet… _too_ quiet.

That was never a good sign, Sokka decided.

He crouched lower, clutching Boomerang tightly as he shrank back into the tree's foliage. The coast seemed relatively clear below him: the forest was still, the only sound the whisper of the wind rustling in the leaves. His legs were cramping up, the muscles painfully tense—he'd been in the tree only a few minutes, but to balance on the limb in his current position was nothing less than an ordeal—but he didn't dare move. Just a second ago, someone had stepped on a twig just outside his vision. Then silence had ensued, meaning they were either leaving, or about to find him.

And, though he wasn't sure he'd even heard anything any more, he couldn't get caught. He knew Aang had already been taken out: he'd heard the boy's cry a couple minutes back, along with the shouts of victory. Katara he had no idea about, but Suki was down for the count from the beginning, and Zuko…

Frankly, he didn't trust Zuko to stick it out. Okay, so he was good now—even Sokka accepted it—but he had no guarantee that, consequences of getting caught as they were, Zuko wouldn't take the opportunity to beg for a little mercy. He wasn't used to this kind of thing, after all, and he might have a chance of being spared if he got caught—

"Ahh! Stop!"

It was a voice full of disbelief, but the anger and injustice faded quickly in the wake of horror. "No, in the name of Agni—!"

The cry echoed through the newly silent forest, leaving Sokka wide-eyed with terror. Spirits, if even Zuko had been found, then he was in _trouble_. There was no sound coming from where the firebender had been hiding, but Sokka knew he had to move. Zuko had been in the trees as well—if it wasn't safe up here, he'd need to find a new hiding place, and _fast_.

Bending and glancing back and forth once, he reached out for a branch, swinging carefully down and touching the ground with a whisper. This was the worst part: it was the enemy's ground, and he was the most at risk. He needed to get under cover… where he couldn't be seen…

He shot a look to either side, but there was no one anywhere. The woods were eerily silent, nothing daring to make a sound. He pressed himself against the tree, holding Boomerang up against his chest just in case. There didn't seem to be anyone around, and there was a river to his left. If he could get into the water, no one would be able to catch him.

He couldn't see anyone, couldn't hear a soul. There was no time to worry about Zuko or to try and find Katara—if Zuko had been caught, then it was almost certainly too late for her. Survival now was the most he could hope for. He crouched, readying himself, and then, adrenaline coursing through him and blood thudding in his ears, he _ran_.

Branches whipped at him, and every one he imagined to be fingertips reaching to grab him. The rush of the swollen river was growing louder—he was almost there…

And then, from behind him, there came a sound like a miniature avalanche, and his heart leapt into his throat, nothing to do with the sprint he was keeping up. "I _see_ you!" cackled someone in a voice of pure evil—_nefarious_ was perhaps the most accurate word. The ground was shaking under his feet, and before he could even think of dodging, the earth swallowed his foot as it came down. He went sprawling, skidding across the grass, and shackles of rock rose around his wrists and ankles, fastening him in place.

Sokka spat out a mouthful of dirt, struggling to raise his head and scowl at the attacker. She was standing above him, and planted a foot on his chest to keep him down. "_Mmph_," he protested, and she snickered. A second later, a small fist connected with his upper arm, directly into his omnipresent bruise. "Got ya," she announced.

He twisted his neck to the side to speak, certain he was wrenching a few major muscles in the process. "I don't think," he muttered, "this is how you're supposed to play hide and seek."

"You're just mad because I'm winning."

"We don't play this way in the South Pole."

"Well, South Pole people are wusses."

The comeback shut him up for a good two seconds, which was all she needed. "Since I found all of you," she continued loftily, "I'm the seeker again. I'm going to start counting now."

The earth around his wrists and feet dissolved like melting ice, and Sokka got to his feet, rubbing his upper arm idly. He was positive that wasn't a rule of hide and seek either, but he was loath to contradict her. He waited for a moment for her to cover her eyes, before remembering why that wasn't really important. "Thirty," she said, "twenty-nine, twenty-eight…"

And he took off running—not quite sure why, but running nonetheless. In the clearing behind him, in the middle of a pile of torn-up earth, Toph kept counting, grinning like a Cheshire cat as she did. Who knew that nonviolent games could be so much fun?

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**Hide and Seek-best game ever, no competition. Reviews are much appreciated, as always ^_^**


	24. Future

**#03. Future**

**A little non-fluff Tokka, for the hell of it. Takes place a couple years after the finale and, for all intents and purposes, Toph can't see through wood. That be all XP  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA

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**

Toph had only entered Aunt Wu's fifteen minutes ago, and had already decided that she never wanted to smell incense again. It was getting ridiculous—there were pungent candles burning in the entrance room, sticks of the stuff set in jars on side tables, and from the smell of it, there even more just down the hall. She was all for a little expedition with Sokka, especially one involving Science and senile supposed psychics, but there was only so much she'd volunteered for.

Sokka meanwhile, seemed to be fine. He was eating bean curd puffs: she couldn't see him, as he was sitting on a huge, fluffy cushion, but every couple seconds a _crunch_ would mark the next victim. It was going to get really annoying in a moment.

"So remind me about the plan?" she prompted, shifting to adjust her vision. She was sitting on a cushion too, and while it was actually pretty comfortable, it made everything slightly fuzzy.

"Wuh?" Sokka asked, through a mouthful of curd puffs. She heard him swallow hard. "Oh, right—the plan. Okay"—a _crunch_ announced the untimely end of another puff—"so Aunt Wu knows me"—_crunch_—"right? And she knows I don't believe"—_crunch_—"in any of her fortunetelling, right? But"—_crunch_—"she doesn't know you, so _you"_—_crunch_—"are gonna go in there and ask her"—_crunch_—"some stuff about you and your future and stuff. And then she'll get it wrong, and we'll be able to prove that fortune-telling _isn't real_." This last line was followed by an even larger chomp, presumably Sokka making up for the entire five seconds without food.

"Why does anyone care, though? Except you, I mean."

"Becaush it'sh Shienshe," he protested through a mouthful. "Everyone cares."

"Right. Nothing to do with the pretty girl who keeps bringing you free food."

She heard a grinding, clogged sort of sound that she realized, a moment later, was him swallowing. "It's not my fault," he said, voice startlingly clear, "that these puffs are _amazing_."

"Miss Toph?"

With an inward sigh of relief—she couldn't have taken much more of that chewing—she got to her feet. "That's me."

"_You got this,_" she heard from behind her as she left the room, albeit muffled by snack food, and rolled her eyes.

Aunt Wu's assistant—a girl slightly shorter even than Toph, with two _ridiculous_ carroty braids sprouting from her head—led her to a set of double doors, drawing it back with a hushed scrape of wood and a small curtsy. "Aunt Wu's been expecting you," she murmured, motioning Toph forward.

_Oh, how clever, _thought Toph, rolling her eyes. As she took a couple cautious steps into the room, however, the skepticism left her face, replaced by the barest trepidation. The hall and entrance rooms had been paved in stone, but the floor here was smooth, glossy wood, and she could hardly make out a thing. All she could tell was that there was still too much incense, and, judging from the heat, presumably a fire somewhere in front of her. Also, probably Sokka's phony psychic.

It probably could be worse, but it was kind of hard to see how.

Behind her, she heard the door slide shut, and her shoulders tensed at the noise; the motion alone cut her off a little more from her sight. She stood in silence, waiting for Aunt Wu to make the first move. After all, for all she knew, she'd just been shown to an empty room, punishment for arriving with someone as sacrilegious about fortune-telling as Sokka.

"Ah," came a voice, soft and thick with age. Though the earthbender never saw it, Aunt Wu stood, giving a slight bow of greeting. "Welcome, Toph. It is an honor to meet one so renowned."

For a moment, Toph was genuinely surprised, but cynicism shone through quickly in its wake. This was halfway to the other side of the Earth Kingdom, for Spirits' sakes; was there a person in the world who didn't already know the Bei Fong family and their precious daughter? With what she hoped was subtlety, she reached back to brace herself on the door—the sense of isolation that came with having no sight was unbearable. "Look, Aunt Wu," she replied, sounding so collected she impressed herself a little, "my parents are the renowned ones. I'm not really… associated with them any more."

The woman hesitated for a second—_there goes the cordiality_, thought Toph wryly—but to her surprise, Aunt Wu gave a sudden laugh. "Goodness, no," she chuckled. "That wasn't at all what I meant. You were the Avatar's earthbending master, weren't you?"

Toph blinked, surprised. "I… what?"

"The battles may have taken place in the Fire Kingdom," said the old woman warmly, "but we are certainly familiar with our war heroes here in the Earth Kingdom. I was referring to you, Toph, not your parents."

"Oh." For a shockingly uncharacteristic moment, she found herself lost for words. "Thanks, I guess."

From her voice, it sounded like Aunt Wu was smiling. "Please, sit down," she offered, and a faint quiver of motion suggested a gesture towards a seat. Toph paused, and after a moment the woman seemed to realize her mistake. "Oh," the woman murmured, "I apologize. Can you see here?"

Toph paused, unwilling to tell the whole truth. The floor was wood, and while she was aware there was earth underneath them, it was hard to pick up anything but the faintest shapes. Strangely, however, though her answer was reluctant in coming, the question itself didn't offend her outright. Few people had the nerve to ask so bluntly. She couldn't decide if she was annoyed or pleasantly surprised.

"I'll live," she shrugged, shuffling closer carefully. In fact, it was almost impossible to see anything, but she was loath to ask straight-out for help. "So," she wondered, taking a seat on the thick, soft cushion when it nudged her foot, "is this the part where you read my palm, or what?" She offered her hand out dubiously, as if to shake, as she spoke.

Aunt Wu chuckled. It was a low, rich sound, like melted chocolate. "If you insist," she replied, taking hold of Toph's hand. Her fingers were cool, the coldest thing Toph had felt in the fire-lit room so far, and they moved with experience, flipping Toph's hand palm-up and then dancing across the lines there like a pianist mid-concerto.

"You'll have a long life," she said slowly. "You'll travel… sporadically, and you'll never really settle down. You'll make… no." She stopped, finger moving slowly across a line down the middle of Toph's palm. "You already have made a great decision, one that changed your life."

…_The boy stepped into the ring, feet barely brushing the ground as he went. She snorted, grinding her foot into the earth to get a better look at him. "Come on," she shouted, loud enough for the entire arena. "Do people really want to see _two_ little girls fighting?" _

"_Hey, wait!" he called, even as she set her feet and the crowd of Earth Rumble VI roared its approval. "I don't really want to fight you. I need to talk to you."_

"_I'm here to fight," she replied. "If these people wanted to watch conversation"—here she broke off to spit in her palms, rubbing them roughly together—"they'd be at the _theater_."_

"_No," he persisted, "listen. I need to find an Earthbending teacher. I think it's meant to be you…"_

"Yeah, but I knew that," Toph muttered after a pause. "And so does anyone who knows their war heroes."

Aunt Wu's finger's paused mid-brush, but she sounded amused when she spoke. "Not convinced, are you?"

_Ah, screw it_. "No, not really."

"We'll have to do something about that," murmured the old woman. She leant closer, and Toph heard the rustle of what sounded like a long, elegant robe. "_Love_," said Aunt Wu with conviction. "Any specific questions, my dear?"

"Uh…" Toph muttered warily, resisting the urge to jerk her hand away; her fingers curled in nonetheless, a reflex she couldn't quite hold in check. "No, I know this already. Break a couple hearts, live it up, no kids. Ever. Easy."

"There's a boy," said Aunt Wu quietly. Normally, Toph would have thrown in something along the lines of 'oh, wow, that's amazing—how'd you know?' at this point, but something in Aunt Wu's voice stopped her from complete obnoxiousness.

"Who I live happily ever after with, right?" she muttered. It came out sarcastic, which she mostly couldn't help.

"Who you love," continued Aunt Wu evenly, smoothing back Toph's fingers from her palm. "But he doesn't notice you. He's already broken your heart, and he'll do it again."

Toph went rigid, cheeks—to her horror—going warm. The words, vague and phony-psychic-ambiguous as they might be, had rings of truth in them, accuracy that hit her like a blow to the stomach. Her mouth half-opened, about to tell Aunt Wu _enough_, but the old woman continued mercilessly.

"Last time you didn't leave," she intoned, "because you cared about him too much and hoped he'd change his mind. This time…" She paused, fingertip skimming Toph's palm like a pebble skipping on water. "This time you will. Your heart line merges with your head line in the center—you'll decide that it's not worth caring about him. You'll travel, far away, and you'll find someone... no, many other people. Sooner or later, you'll leave all of them, so they won't desert you like he did."

She lowered Toph's hand, or maybe the earthbender snatched it back, fingers curling into a protective fist around her palm. Her entire freaking _soul_, stamped onto her skin like that? Impossible. Totally impossible.

And she hadn't let him break her heart. Aunt Wu was telling it all wrong.

That _bitch_.

"What was that?" she demanded. "I'm paying to hear how _depressing_ my life's going to be?"

"Technically, you're not paying me anything."

"I'm spending _time_."

"I don't tell fairy tales, my dear," Aunt Wu. "I tell fortunes. Perhaps you would be so good as to inform your friend outside that there is a difference."

Sudden injustice flooded through her, and she jumped to her feet, crossing her arms. It felt unfair suddenly. She wanted her fortune _back_, ludicrously—she wanted a different one. What kind of hag went around telling you your life was going to be shit? "So people just come to know how much their futures suck?" she snapped. "What's even the point? No one wants to know that!"

"Goodness." Another rustle of silk; from the sound of it, Aunt Wu folding her sleeves together. "I don't inform all my customers of their entire fortune," she replied. "It simply seemed to me someone of your nature might appreciate the honesty. The future isn't set in stone, Toph. I've simply told you a story—your interpretation is up to you."

Infuriated, Toph spun on her heel, shuffling as quickly as she could towards the door. "I'll show myself out," she growled, as Aunt Wu began to stand, and, after a moment's painful scrabbling along the wall, grabbed the door handle and stormed out.

Sokka was right where she'd left him, surprisingly empty-mouthed. "They took my bean curd puffs," he said sadly, as she approached, but after a moment's reflection, their larger purpose for being there seemed to return to him. "Hey, what'd she say?" he wondered, getting to his feet.

Toph opened her mouth, working her jaw for a moment as she searched for words, before shrugging. "Buncha' crap. She was full of it."

"Just 'crap'?" he whined, slipping an arm around her waist as they made their way into the street. "Come on, Toph! Details—juicy details!"

"Nah. It was girl stuff," she half-invented, her arm wrapping around his shoulder. "Look, I'll tell you if it doesn't come true, okay?"

It occurred to her a moment later, as they continued down the street, that she'd said _if_, not _when_.

_Freaking psychics.

* * *

_

**I'm so much on Sokka's side in the Aunt Wu episode that it's not even funny. "Well, I told you the village wouldn't be destroyed, and it wasn't..." God, that lady bothered me sometimes. So I feel for Sokka and his Science... ^_^  
**

**Exam week's coming up, so reviews to cheer me up from studying are always appreciated... ;)  
**


	25. Life

**#66. Life**

**Chapter 25: I'm a quarter way there, baby! And about this particular chapter... hmm. Well, I can't take full credit for this, which was inspired by another amazing oneshot I read a while back, but, anyway.**** Nothing much else to say, ****yet. Just read, and enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA  


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**

"All set, m'boy?"

"I'll be fine," Sokka replied, darting a glance back inside the house. "Just getting settled in, now."

"Can't think what a boy like you wants with a house so far out in the country," observed Mr. Culpepper. "Not stopping you, mind—just surprised."

"Yeah, well," Sokka muttered. His hand rested on the front door's knob, ready to shut it in a moment if the landlord could take the hint. "I just like peace and quiet."

"Mmm." Culpepper shrugged, absently rubbing his graying mustache. "Well, never mind. Shouldn't complain that someone's finally taken the old place off my hands, eh?" He elbowed Sokka lightly, grinning. "Eh?"

"Eh," Sokka agreed blandly. "Well, I guess I should go start getting my stuff, you know, unpacked…"

"Right y'are," agreed the landlord, nodding slowly. "Well, I'd best be going, then. Call if you need anything," he added as an afterthought, ambling down the porch steps and heaving himself into his car. With a deep sigh of relief, Sokka almost threw the door shut and collapsed against it, sliding to the floor in a pile of near-tangible exhaustion. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to look at his new house.

It was huge, bigger than he probably needed, but he was feeling extravagant, and he needed somewhere good to work on his inventions, and goddamn it, nobody would leave him _alone_ back in the city. Besides, he reassured himself, head flopping back against the door, it wasn't as if he was buying anything like new. The house had been on the market a few years, now, and looked every inch the part. Even the entrance hall, a room that might have been daunting when clean, was in utter disarray. Directly across from him, staring him down like a seven-foot sentinel, stood a grandfather clock, face screened over with dust. Above it, a massive staircase wound around the edge of the room, curling from a first step near his right to a massive landing above and to his left. The banister there was broken, a dark wooden post splintering and twisted crookedly.

He'd fix that, Sokka told himself noncommittally. If he had time. Maybe.

Yeah. Probably not.

Screw it. He needed food. He clambered to his feet, kicking a cardboard box out of his way as he trudged towards the kitchen. A darkish, bruise-like patch stained the wood there.

God. He'd bought a shithole.

_Definitely_ needed food.

In the kitchen, he ripped the tape off a cardboard box marked 'FOOD' and inspected his options sullenly. They were all nonperishable, Katara's last effort to impose common sense on him, but would do for now. Briefly he eyed a bag of apples that he certainly hadn't packed—_damn sisters_—before grabbing a jar of peanut butter. Nothing went better with creepy, empty houses than Skippy.

Swiping a fingerful of peanut butter from the jar, he turned into the living room, heading for a couch left there years ago by the previous inhabitants. The battered, once-cream sofa was currently a shade somewhere between taupe and sludge, but it looked comfy enough, he decided, collapsing onto it without even looking—

"_OW!"_

He'd sat on Katara's cat once. This experience was frighteningly similar: a shriek of shock, limbs rising to smack at him, and, instants later, a steaming heap of indignation aimed solely at him. Sokka leapt to his feet in shock, dropping the peanut butter. A girl lay stretched out on her back on the couch, staring at him and rubbing her newly sat-on leg. She was china-doll pale, with black hair unfolding around her face like a halo, but the look she was giving Sokka was neither delicate nor angelic.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, at the same time he blurted, "What are you—?"

"Whoa." Her eyes narrowed. "My house, my rules. Start talking."

"What?" he yelped. "It's not your house! I just paid for it!"

"I've been living here on my own for the last four years," she snapped. "Don't know what you paid for, but you're wasting your money. Bei Fong family still owns the place, genius."

"But…" he stuttered, a flickering protest. "But… I _paid_…!" For a moment, it was all he could do to gawk, before the rest of what she'd said sunk in. "Wait… four _years_?" he echoed. "On your own? But you've gotta be, like…"

"Twenty," she supplied. "So?"

"You've been on your own four _years_?" he repeated. "But what about your parents?"

"Dead," she said blandly. "Mom since, like, ever, and Dad a while back. I'm over it."

The detachment she spoke with was odd, but four years, Sokka supposed, was plenty of time to get over something like that if you'd never gotten along with your parents anyway. "But, you just… live here?"

"Works for me."

"What about friends?" he persisted. "Or, like, school? Or a boyfriend? If you're only twenty…"

Her hand shot out, fist connecting with his arm; he yelped and shot her a wounded look. "I'm asking the questions, remember?" she snapped. "You don't get to come sit on me in my own house and expect my frigging life story."

Sokka made what he hoped was an apologetic face.

"How come you _bought _a house this far out, anyway?" she challenged. "You've gotta be, like…"

"Twenty-two."

"Okay," she agreed. "Twenty-two. What, don't you have a girlfriend? Or just not into the nightlife?"

"I dunno," he muttered, glancing up at the ceiling. A brigade of mildew specks was working its way determinedly outward from one corner, furtively extending its territory. "I like peace and quiet, I guess." It sounded lame—to be honest, he wasn't very good at being a college bum—but it was true.

"There you go," she replied. "Me too. And…" She broke off, glancing around the room. There were mixed emotions glinting in her face, a weary mosaic of frustration and affection. "I don't know how to explain it," she said finally, "but I'm sort of attached to the place, you know? Not sure I could leave, even if I wanted."

"I think I get you," he nodded. "So… but, no friends or anything?"

"No boyfriend," she said calmly, and he flushed, wondering if he was really that transparent. "I don't really get out a lot."

He snorted. "Then I think we'll get along just fine."

Sitting up and tucked her legs under her, Toph smirked. "Sounds pretty hopeful from the boy who sat on me."

"Oh. Right." He paused. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"The hell you are," she muttered. "What, were you blind or something?"

He shrugged. "Hey, it's one way to make an introduction."

The girl rolled her eyes, settling back against the sofa arm. "I'm Toph," she declared, and then, after a moment, "That works too, genius."

Despite himself, he grinned. "Sokka," he replied, before remembering his manners and offering out the jar of peanut butter to her. "Skippy?"

* * *

By the end of the week, Sokka had decided he didn't mind sharing the house. At first, negotiations started over bedrooms and where Sokka, much to Toph's irritation, got to put his workshop, but soon, things were flowing fairly smoothly. She'd actually helped him unpack a little of his shitload of stuff, and the place was starting even to feel like—dare he say it?—a home.

He spent the majority of the day down in his new basement workshop when he wasn't running errands or pretending to unpack. The few projects he was working on were coming along nicely, and Toph was good at leaving him alone to work. Rarely, in fact, did he ever see her during the day, but, after all, it was a big house, and he didn't often leave his one corner of it.

In the evenings, it couldn't have been more different. Almost every night was spent together, one way or another: with no one within a two-mile radius but each other, there were little options for company. Anyway, what had begun as a truce where he'd refused to concede his house had turned into what was definitely at least a friendship. She was smart, and hot, and had a stinging sense of humor—anyone, Sokka reasoned, would find it hard not to like her.

So, yeah. After about a week, he realized he didn't mind having a roommate.

After about a month, he decided he liked it.

Because after about a month, they kissed for the first time, sitting on the couch, watching a movie and with her curled up against him. His arm was draped around her, an action that had felt purely platonic a moment ago, but then she'd shifted, and they'd been having this intense staring-back-and-forth moment. The room was dark, and the glow from the TV reflected in her eyes, and they shone a luminous, electric blue. He'd tilted his head and leaned down.

So after that, he enjoyed living with someone else.

By the time a few more months had passed—actually, four months as of tomorrow, though he wasn't counting or anything—he knew he loved it.

He trudged up to bed that night to find the balcony door open, a light summer breeze playing across his skin as he walked through his bedroom door. Savoring the feeling, the teasing hint of summer in the air, he padded outside, taking in the view. Fields that faded to thick woods stretched out around him, and above, the massive, star-splattered curve of the sky.

Behind him, the curtains ruffled in the breeze like birds shifting their plumage, revealing a small, pale figure in his room. He heard her take a seat on his bed, the soft groan of springs; barefoot steps soft and careful, he turned and then hesitated, gaze lingering on her. She seemed untouched by the faint breeze, almost ethereal in the glow of the moon, and for a moment it was all Sokka could do to look and marvel, the barest smile on his lips. He wondered if she knew how pretty she was.

And then she met his eyes, and the moment was gone. "Hey," he said, taking a couple steps closer and leaning on the doorframe.

Toph smirked. "Having fun out there?"

"Come see," he said, and she stood, sauntering towards him in a rare display of obligation. He took her hand as she came closer, and she stood next to him, surveying the land in front of them with an oddly sad expression. Her stare fell down, towards the ground below them, and she shivered. "What's wrong?" he wondered instantly, wrapping both arms over her shoulders so they clasped around her waist.

"Heights," she mumbled, closing her eyes and leaning back against him. "I always… feel like I'm going to fall, I guess."

Sokka hugged her closer, surprised by the confession. Somehow he'd always thought she wasn't afraid of anything. Well aware it was horrifically corny, he rested his head on her shoulder, lips brushing her ear. "I wouldn't let you fall," he whispered.

Toph tilted her head, meeting his gaze, and felt a shiver of something almost like sorrow run through her, settling heavily in her stomach. She cared about him, too much—as in, the _L-word_, too much—and it wasn't a bad thing, but it was happening so fast… she wished it weren't, or she'd have more _time_…

Sokka's eyebrows pulled together slightly, as if he'd seen her face fall, and she leaned in quickly, pecking him on the lips. He bent into the kiss, almost playfully, but when he pulled back, it was with a suddenly gentle expression.

"I love you," he said quietly.

Her heart swelled and cracked at the same time, but the response flowed to her lips quicker than any regret could. "I love you, too," she replied, and turned, arms wrapping around his neck. She felt his lips curve against hers into a grin, and they stumbled through the doors, towards his bed. For an instant, he pulled back to smile at her, a lopsided expression of such happiness she hated herself, but she mustered a twisted reflection of the gesture, her smile genuine if tainted bittersweet. Leaning in to kiss him again, harder—wanting this, more than anything, in case her growing prediction was true—she fell onto the sheets next to him…

* * *

When Sokka woke up in the morning, she wasn't there.

It was strange, though at first more unusual than alarming. He knew he usually woke up before her—not because... like, last night was a first, but he was an early riser, and she'd teased him endlessly for it. Of course, the clock across from him also read 11: 45, so he'd slept pretty late—probably a side effect of not getting much sleep last night—so Toph being awake before him? Slightly odd, but only that.

And then he saw the note.

It was folded on the pillow next to him, too crisply to be accidental, and he recognized her scrawl peeking out from under an upturned corner. He reached for it lazily, and never saw the sucker punch coming.

_Sokka,_ it read.

_Look, I'm so sorry. I don't know how to explain any of this, but I have to go. __It's not your fault__… __I mean, you didn't do anything wrong, I just__… it's not you, Sokka. It's me. I know that sounds stupid, but it's true. I can't thank you enough, Snoozles. I mean, you being here, and everything, and last night—it's set me free. I feel like I've finally gotten some peace here. You know how I told you about being stuck here, right? Well, it's changed. Something's different. I think I can move on now, and I can't come back._

_It's not that I __want__ to, but I have to, Sokka. You didn't do anything wrong. Don't think any of this is your fault. It's me, okay? It's all me._

_Shit. This is making me cry._

_Look, good luck, Sokka. I know this is unfair of me, and it's all a little screwed up, but I do love you, more than anything. I promise, I'll always be there with you. Bye._

_Love,_

_Toph_

He dropped the note.

* * *

But that afternoon found Sokka somewhere far different. The sunlight had evolved all the way from a high-noon tsunami of light, before receding back into a faint evening glow. Sokka no longer lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling; that afternoon found him hunched over a computer. He felt oddly hollow, like a balloon, his skin stretched tight over empty air, but there was a twisting, cramping pain in his chest that belied total emptiness.

That was until the idea came to him, about an hour later, an idea so profound he'd marveled at the lack of lightbulb over his head. But for the wallowing he'd been doing, he might even have thought of it sooner, but he'd been half-asleep and half-drowning-in-anguish since he woke up. Still, though slow in coming, it came nonetheless.

_He had to find her_.

And so, though very part of him ached not to get up—because maybe, if he stayed just a little longer, it'd only be a dream—he finally half-rolled, half-fell out of bed, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and wrestling into them as he stumbled towards the door. Clenched in his hand, from inevitability rather than any conscious intention, was the note. He'd look for her, yeah; there had to be something about her, somewhere. A self-proclaimed technophile, Sokka held the deep conviction that _everything_ was on the Internet somewhere. He just had to look for it.

He'd staggered across the hall, into the computer room opposite the bedroom, and dropped heavily into the chair, pulling up Google as the moniter turned on. _Toph…_ he'd tapped out,_ Bei… Fong…_

By five-o'-something that evening, he'd trawled through a thousand Facebook pages, tried a hundred calls that ended up being long-distance to Asia, half of them picked up to someone chattering in Mandarin. Clearly, it was time for him to find something.

He'd wish he hadn't.

The page loaded quickly, and he tapped the first link without even bothering to read. It loaded slowly, the pixels solidifying lazily into letters. Abruptly, his blood ran cold.

_Father Receives Death Sentence for Daughter's Murder_.

His eyes moved without any consent from his body. The words didn't so much seem to register as to burn themselves into his retinas, a numbing sensation beginning to spread through his body.

_Lao Bei Fong, 61, was sentenced to death today for the murder of his daughter..._

_...Toph was just twenty, and the only living relative of Lao, whose wife had passed away fifteen years ago. Friends of the family say that Lao was extremely protective of his daughter, mentioning that though Toph was accepted to both Brown and Dartmouth universities last year, he refused to let her leave home to attend…_

…_According to police officials, the station received a phone call from the Bei Fong residence at approximately 5:55 on June 2nd. Toph, who was attempting to sneak away from home, had been apprehended by her father. In the call, she informs the police that she is being chased by a violent Lao and needs help urgently. _

_Officers headed for the house instantly, but were too late. From what they could discern, an enraged Lao had caught up with Toph at the top of a flight of stairs. The father, no longer in his right mind, attacked his daughter; Toph was knocked through the railing, breaking her neck in the fall._

Sokka's eyes, pulled by something cruelly magnetic and stronger than gravity, rose upward, coming to rest on the broken section of the banister railing just visible through the door. It took him a second to realize he'd stood, that he'd grabbed the note, that his feet were moving towards the railing, a sickening, morbid horror reeling him closer like a hooked fish. He paused at the railing, gaze dropping to the entrance hall below. The dark, bruise-like stain marking the floor was directly below him, and Sokka realized blankly that it was distinctly _red_-tinged. A shudder, a frozen, terrified convulsion shook him; the article blazed through his mind, a single sentence hitting him like a knife in the gut.

_Miss Bei Fong is believed to have died at approximately six o' clock that evening_.

From below, the grandfather clock began to chime, and as the sixth and final toll echoed like a funeral bell, the crumpled note dropped from Sokka's fingers and softly hit the floor.

* * *

**That's right, a ghost story. Heh. But come on, clearly called for. M. Night Shyamalan's directing the movie; do we really think [SPOILER ALERT] there's not going to be _someone _who sees dead people...? o_O **

**Meh. Food for thought. R&R, as always!**

**Note: many thanks to LunaCat13 for critique on the Internet scene-duly rewritten, thank you!  
**


	26. Kiss

**#48. Kiss**

**Wow-glad you all liked the last one! Huge thanks for all the reviews, especially Holy Chiz, who I didn't get to reply to. Supports so awesome, you guys.**

**I have been stranded in China w/o Internet (no, really; though how often do you get that excuse?) so apologies for the lateness. Nice prompt though, ay?

* * *

**

She pressed her hand against the cellar wall, searching for motion above her, and then smiled. "Coast's all clear up top."

"Sweet," he grinned, sliding down the rest of the ladder and landing on the balls of his feet. The thud echoed through the small cellar, and he shot a hasty glance up toward the trap door, almost expecting someone to have heard.

Toph snorted. "Wanna keep it down, Sokka?"

"I'll have you know that Water Tribe warriors are trained in stealth," he replied tetchily, glancing towards the patch of shadow that looked to be Toph. The half-open trap door above, a postcard-stamp-sized square of red and gold, provided exactly enough light for Sokka to see his hands and upper body.

And the bottles. The dim firelight bounced off them, making them glow a deep, rich amber. There were a lot of bottles.

"So what you're saying is you can be stealthy—you're just _choosing_ not to?"

"Be nice," he sulked, making his way towards her.

"Overrated. Come on," she ordered knowledgably, motioning him over. "The good stuff's in the back."

"How do you know?"

"Because the good stuff's always in the back. Duh. Good stuff's near the front for when you just want a drink, okay stuff's in the middle to fill up space, and the really good stuff's in the back, where you know where it is and it's safe from idiots looking for some cheap booze."

"Except we have cunning on our side."

"That we do." She paused, reaching out to gesture towards a shelf that loomed over them in the shadow. For a moment, it Sokka back for a moment to when he'd been sure there were monsters hiding in all caves, ready to eat warriors who wandered in unawares. However, this particular monster-ish shape was striped with rows of dark, elegantly labeled bottles, which made it A-OK in his book.

He reached for one of the bottles, squinting at the label, and then swore quietly. "What?" Toph demanded, and he grinned as he looked up at her.

"_This_," he declared, "is a '32. _Damn_—does Zuko even know how lucky he is?"

"Good stuff," she replied proudly. "Always in the back."

Being an aristocrat by birth, he decided, had its perks. Taking Toph had been a necessity—after all, that was the point today—but her being expert at nobles' logic just made this whole thing even better. He'd never tried something this adventurous before for the sake of liquor: sure, he'd snuck the odd bottle from the kitchens or whatever, but this was a million times better.

Besides, he had an extremely good reason. Today was a special occasion, and no cheap cooking alcohol was going to cut it. Raiding the Fire Lord's secret stash wasn't just fun any more: it was_ absolutely_ _necessary._ _Period_.

He dug out the corkscrew he'd jammed into his belt, twisting it into the stopper and pulling the cork out with a pop that echoed through the cellar. The smell, rich and layered with opulence, hit him like a freight train—_damn, _he thought happily—but he passed it to Toph first. She sniffed it, wrinkling her nose at the smell, and then lifted it to her lips, taking a swig.

He'd half hoped she'd cough, or even just splutter a little so he could make fun of her—her _stealth_ comment was still aching for a comeback—but she swallowed calmly, giving an approving nod after a moment. She offered it back to him, and he reached awkwardly for it in the near-blackness, the bottle nearly slipping from his hand as she passed it off to him. "Careful," she whispered hoarsely, and then, more calmly, "That's good, though."

"Mm-hmm," he agreed happily, taking a gulp as she passed it back to him. For a moment, he nearly choked: it was like drinking lighter fluid, like swallowing a firebender whole—but then he gasped in a breath, and it was _delicious_. "_Damn_…" he said, licking his lips.

"Hey," she protested. "Don't drink it al—"

"_Right this way, Fire Lord."_

Their eyes widened simultaneously, and Sokka nearly dropped the bottle. "Did you just…" they both began to demand, and then stopped in horrible realization.

"_Hide_!" she blurted.

Sokka didn't waste a second, grabbing her hand and dragging her towards the last row of shelves. They ducked behind them, both instinctively holding their breath as the trap door above them creaked open. A light appeared at the top of the ladder, shedding gold across the floor, and heavy footsteps followed: three people clambering, one after the other, down the rungs. Peering through the racks of bottles, Sokka realized at the same time Toph did that the person providing the light was holding a flame directly in the palm of his hand, the fire gleaming off the silk of his Fire Lord robes.

"What do you think, your majesty? Perhaps the '72 for her feast?"

"Are you joking?" demanded a second voice, and with a jolt, Sokka recognized it as Iroh. "For this kind of occasion? Nephew, I expect better of you than that?"

Sokka's grip tightened simultaneously on the neck of the bottle and Toph's hand. "He's breaking out the good stuff!" she hissed.

"Least he cares?" he offered weakly.

"Don't worry, uncle," Zuko replied, a faint grin in his voice. "I wouldn't dream of it. Something from the _back_ row for her party, I think," he continued, now to the servant.

Toph cursed sharply, turning to stare at Sokka. "What do we—?"

_You need excuses_, he registered frantically._ Distractions. Do something, Sokka! _"Follow my lead," he blurted, and then—with his free hand, _not_ the one holding the barely-opened firewhiskey—he grabbed Toph's chin, tilting his face down to meet hers.

Sokka, for a now-twenty-year-old who spent half of puberty trying to save the world, had done a good amount of kissing, and he considered himself pretty experienced in that whole area—as _seen it all_ as any twenty-year-old could credibly be. He'd be damned, however, if Toph's stunned little gasp into his mouth, her lips brushed with a taste of firewhiskey, was not one of the hottest things he'd ever seen. First he'd just been determined to give Zuko a show (and, okay, maybe just a little motivated by the firewhiskey buzzing around in him) but it was like knocking the first domino over in the chain. His hand gripped her chin, pulling her closer into the kiss—had she _always_ been this _curvy_?—and then, since she was clearly trying to freaking _kill_ him, her lips parted, and she _groaned_.

_Into his mouth_.

Sokka, realizing abruptly that his other hand was being wasted, dropped the firewhiskey.

The bottle shattered, and the other three footsteps sped, before clattering to a frantic halt. Toph, completely distracted by what was definitely the best dream she'd had in her entire life, ignored them, her hands sliding along his chest like they'd been aching to do borderline _forever…_

Until Zuko spoke up.

"What the _hell_?"

Sokka drew back, gasping for breath. Toph's hand, weaving into Sokka's belt, stiffened abruptly, and she yanked back, eyes wide with panic. Iroh, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire cat, fingertips steepled evil-mastermind style as if this whole thing had been _his_ doing. The servant looked like he wished he was anywhere else in the universe but here, and Zuko looked torn between going even paler than he already was or flushing a furious red. The result, a brilliant compromise, was rather spectacular.

Color aside, though, he was staring not at Toph but at Sokka. "What the _hell_?" he repeated, sounding not angry but staggered. "_Sokka_?"

"Oh," said Sokka calmly, wrapping an arm around Toph's waist. "Hey."

Toph, cheeks flaming and jaw slightly agape, managed, "…Hey."

"Sorry 'bout that," Sokka continued. "We were just looking for a little, uh, privacy."

"In the wine cellar, eh?"

Sokka fumbled. "We were figuring we wouldn't be… ah, disturbed," he finished, pointedly quirking an eyebrow on the last word.

The servant, at last reaching his breaking point, edged frantically around the shelf and was gone in a patter of footsteps. Zuko, however, eyed them for a moment, and then, with an unhurried wisdom, his gaze moved calmly to the shattered bottle on the floor. A moment too late, Sokka tried to shuffle in front of it, but Zuko's golden stare fixed him in place like a spotlight. "You two," the Fire Lord aloud, "are such awful liars."

"What?" Sokka demanded, sensing his defense unraveling as he spoke. Pointedly he glanced down, letting his jaw drop as he saw the ex-bottle of firewhiskey. "Oh," he said slowly. "Damn. I must have… have—"

"Knocked it off the shelf," finished Toph seamlessly. "Sorry, Sokka and I tend to get a little… carried away sometimes." She flashed Zuko a coy grin, adding, "Come on, Sparky—you and Mai must know the feeling, right?"

Zuko gawked, his face suddenly matching his brilliant red robes. Iroh, meanwhile, broke into a full-on guffaw until a scowl from his nephew stopped him. "I know that you two have no sense of shame," Zuko snapped.

"Nephew!" broke in Iroh. "What's wrong letting loose a bit? I'm sure it would suit you well—"

"What's wrong?" Zuko echoed. "What's _wrong _with stealing a…" He scrutinized the pieces. "A bottle of the _'32_?"

"They're just having some—_a '32?_" Iroh choked, face falling in an instant. His eyes flared with horror. "_Oh!_" Abruptly, he collapsed to his knees by the bottle shards, face in his hands. "You terrible, terrible children!" Lowering his hands to finger a piece of glass, he spoke at last without looking away from the puddle. "Punish them, nephew," he whispered brokenly. "Oh… this whiskey was a thing of beauty once…!"

Sokka, taking opportunity of the outburst, tried to edge away, but a stare from Zuko froze him in place. "So…" he mumbled, "we're really sorry, so can we…?" He pointed toward the ladder hopefully.

Zuko grinned.

"Sure," he agreed coolly. "There's really not any need for me to do anything."

_Uh-oh_.

Sokka's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Not my place," continued the Fire Lord lightly. "And I'm sure Katara could do a much better job anyw—"

"_Katara?_" Sokka blanched, jaw dropping. "Oh… oh, _Spirits,_ no, Zuko, please—do you know what she'll do to me?"

"Kind of the point, Sokka."

"It's my fault," Toph interrupted.

Zuko raised an eyebrow as his gaze flicked to her. "Oh?"

"I wanted to do something fun now," she lied, biting her lip. "I thought this would be a good idea. It's not his fault. And, uh, you can't punish met today, right?" She grinned hopefully. "That'd be pretty low of you, Sparky." When he didn't respond, she added cautiously, "And I didn't mean it about Mai, either."

Zuko took a deep breath, cutting her off. "So if that was your idea, then the …" he gesticulated, struggling for words. "_Diversions?_"

Sokka and Toph both hesitated.

"Mu-tu-al?" Sokka offered finally, dragging it out into three long syllables.

For a moment, Zuko stared at him carefully, searching his face for something to back up the claim. Apparently finding some kind of answer, however, he straightened, flicking his fingers. "Just go," he muttered, "and don't do it again. _I will tell Katara!_" he shouted after the other boy as, taking no chances, Sokka and Toph raced towards the ladder. Both offered apologetic smiles as they skirted a glaring Iroh, still on the ground.

As the earthbender brushed past him, though, Zuko grabbed her wrist. Toph yelped softly as he pulled her back, bending close to her ear as he added a final retort.

"Happy birthday," he whispered, smirking as she glared at him. "Glad you got what you wanted."

She flushed red, pushing away, but Zuko didn't miss the hint of a grin on her face either. He smiled despite himself—about time someone finally gave Toph something she liked.

* * *

**For the record, it's Toph b-day, and she's legal now. Hence the necessity for drinks XD Reviews are always great!**


	27. Tactless

**#37. Battle**

**Heh... sorry, Twi-hards.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA (for which I am sorry) or Twilight (which reassures me).

* * *

**

_They stand in a forest clearing, fog draping the trees around them like veils drawn, keeping Romeo and Juliet's secret. The boy and girl meet each other's eyes, flaming light into smoldering dark. The pale girl, tossing a lock of dark hair over her shoulder, speaks first, her voice rough and breathy. _

_"I know what you are."_

_The boy's glowing eyes narrow. "_Say it_," he hisses, taking a step to the side, barely a foot away now as he watches her from behind her shoulder. "Out loud."_

_The girl gasps sharply, as though his very proximity makes breathing difficult. "_Vampire_."_

"_Are you afraid?" A step closer, golden eyes aflame._

_She swallows, shoulder rising and falling breathlessly. "No."_

There's a small spluttering noise, someone choking with the effort of muting laughter.

"Ssh!" chides another, slightly higher voice, and silence falls back into place again.

_She leans in closer, eyelids fluttering shut, lips parting in anticipation. In a flash he is on his feet, staggering away, his face torn in anguished indecision. As she stares, face frozen by the shock of rejection, he closes his eyes, shaking his head miserably._

"_I'm the world's most dangerous predator."_

"No, I'm afraid that would be Katara."

As her brother snorts, a girl yelps in offense. The movie scene in front of her catches her eyes before she can form a retort, though, and she ignores the jab.

"_Look," breathes the beautiful, bronze-haired boy, leaning in towards the girl. "Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my looks, even my scent. As if I needed any of that!" He throws up his hands. As she stares, he's suddenly gone, and then he speaks again from the other side of the clearing. "As if you could outrun me," he explodes, eyes dark and wild._

"Hey, want to see the fastest fail in the world?" There's a pause. "You want to see it again?"

"Toph, I'm telling you, if you can't be quiet—"

They're both interrupted as _he reaches abruptly for a tree branch above his head that's as big around as him, ripping it away from the tree with a huge, splintering crash. He whips it back, like a pitcher, and then flings it across the girl's head, letting it shatter into a thousand pieces as it hits a tree on the other side of the clearing. "As if you could fight me off," he hisses._

"He's a freaking _creeper!_"

Quiet from the seat beside her follows her observation, a silence that says very clearly, '_yes, I can hear you, but I'm ignoring you because you're not worth my attention'. _"No, I'm serious," persists Toph in a whisper, leaning towards Katara. "Why is this girl not _running_? Is she actually, literally, like, _retarded_? He's listing all the reasons he could kill her on the spot, and she's just _sitting _there?"

Very slowly, very deliberately, Katara—who's previously held her silence—turns to stare at her friend, her blue eyes gleaming with a level of intensity verging on murderous. "Could you possibly restrain yourself?" she hisses. "_We_ are _in_ a _theater_. Do you have any idea how loud you are?"

"Of course. I'm an extremely self-aware person."

The blue-eyed girl stares in disbelief. "My God, Toph, you are impossib—"

"Hey, keep it down!"

Katara _meeps_ in mortification, clapping her hands over her mouth. A girl in the row in front of them—vaguely pretty, short brown hair and too much makeup—has turned around in her seat, making the effort in order to shoot a glare at both of them. "I'm trying to watch the movie here; take it outside if you've got to talk so badly."

"I'm sorry!" groans Katara instantly. Toph, however, is already eyeing the characters onscreen again, a smirk growing across her lips again.

"_We hunt animals—but you! Your scent is like a drug to me: my own personal brand of heroin."_

_He's perched, for some obscure reason, on a tree branch a few feet above her head, leaning in towards her like a snake craning its neck down towards its prey. She stares up, questioning. _

_"Why did you hate me so much when we first met?"_

_He leaps down, landing panther-like on a branch so his face is bare inches from hers. "I did," he admits, his voice low and hoarse. "But only for making me want you so badly."_

In a sudden explosion of gagging, Toph chokes on a sip of soda. "Ssh!" snap Katara, beside her, and the brunette one row in front. Toph bends over, head almost between her knees, her shoulders trembling with the effort of holding in her laughter. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, she straightens, determined to catch the next few words.

"_No," the girl whispers, leaning in towards him. "I'm only afraid of losing you."_

_The boy stares, face pale, nearly shaking as he meets the girl's gaze. "You don't know how long I've waited for you," he murmurs, running a white finger along the side of her face. Never looking away, he declares, "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb."_

"_What a stupid lamb," says the girl, although she doesn't seem to believe it at all._

_He shakes his head. "What a sick, masochistic lion."_

_I will not laugh… I will not laugh_, is Toph's mantra, because she's well aware that the entire theater is willing to commit a group homicide if she does. Katara's gone, in another world where the boy she's dating is actually has hair and is _dangerous_. For a moment, Toph's gaze darts to the boy on Katara's far side. He looks equally enthralled, and possibly like he's taking mental notes.

Poor Aang. He's never going to be _dangerous_.

"_I love you," the girl onscreen confesses, _because although she's only known Vampy a week, Toph observes, and they've had possibly four conversations, true love knows neither time nor reason.

"_Bella!" The boy rears back, face drawn in horror. "How could you say that? _This_," he proclaims, drawing himself up taller, "_is the skin of a killer_!"_

And she loses it.

Completely.

Anywhere else, she might even be embarrassed. The snort draws the attention of everyone in a ten-foot radius, and all turn to glare daggers. Toph's bent double, shoulders shaking, and every couple moments a gasp of laughter breaks through the fingers pressed over her mouth. "_You're making a scene_!" Katara hisses, bright red as she cringes under the scowls of other movie-goers.

"Skin of… oh my God… _skin of a killer_…"

She's lost, nearly in hysterics. "If you can't watch seriously, you can _leave_!" Katara snaps, abandoning subtlety. "Toph, go, right now, get out—"

And Toph, with impossible dignity, picks herself up and staggers down the aisle, oblivious to the dirty looks on all sides and quaking with laughter. "I'm buying this movie," she calls as she reaches the end. "Oh my God… _as if you could fight me off_…"

Sokka, sitting next to Aang and a seat down from Katara, watches his best friend leave, and decides he's in love.

* * *

**Tokka. At the end. There you have it.**

**Written because EVERYONE'S flipping out over Eclipse, and while I appreciate Taylor Lautner as much as any girl... oh, man. *SHUDDER*. _Twilight_. **

**To summarize how I feel about this series, this oneshot is loosely based on a true story where I watched the movie for the first time with my little sister and her friend (both big Twi-hards (humor me, I love that word)) and got kicked out for laughing too hard. **

**Apologies if you like(d) the series. I personally feel it's a bit like Justin Bieber (not quite sure where it came from, but it does sell somehow, and you either love it or hate it; there's no middle ground). Fine, Stephanie Meyer did write a book, and if nothing else, this I give her credit for._ If nothing else.  
_**

**But. Anyway. I'm sensing thin ice here (having brought Edward and Biebs under simultaneous fire), so I'll stop now. R&R, as always!**

**Oh, and for the record_?_ All of these are real quotes from the movie.  
**


	28. Fear

**#39. Fear**

**So titled because (yes, fine, it's another vampy fic) but it's about the real kind. You know, the scary ones? Remember when vampires were scary?**

**Oh, and still fits the _100_ guidelines, which say I've gotta write "Sokka/Toph fic, be it romantic, friendship, or **_**otherwise**_**"...

* * *

**

Fear's a funny thing.

People are scared of the stupidest things sometimes. Dying, they say. Death. But that's nothing, is it? What do you know about that? Death is moving, leaving a familiar place for one you don't know so well. But maybe, if you die, you're just not there any more. Gone. What's scary about that? Or maybe you're reborn—and that's even better, don't complain, you're still in the same goddamn world, aren't you? So you're fine—or maybe if you're good, you go somewhere nice, call it what you want, somewhere you've earned your spot by being you.

Death. Nothing scary about death; it's just falling asleep. No, dying's not the effect, it's just the cause. It's the rot. It makes everything else bad. You say you're scared of dying, but no, dying's just an alternative to living, one of the things you can do instead. It just screws up everything else.

She's had a lot of time to think about this. She thinks about a lot of things. She's not scared of dying.

She's not scared of anything, much. So to speak, she's not affected.

She's a cause.

Is. Was. There's a subtle difference. _Was_ she a cause? Doubtless. _Is _she? Dubious. People are scared of the stupidest things. They like to be scared of the unknown. They like to be scared of things they can believe in.

And the legends? Stories passed down from generation to generation, stories about pale ones, murderers, shadows in the night that grab you like you grab an apple off a tree, where the last thing you see is their sharp-toothed grin? Well, they don't really believe those. Not real, right?

It's a little ironic. How real is death? Go on. Prove it. Touch it for me. Can't, can you? But you're scared of it?

Now, her? She's real. Very much so. Extremely tangible—it's one of her best qualities. But they aren't scared of her, because they don't _believe_ in her.

They should. And they should be.

She waits, leaning against the tree branch, sensing them coming. Not see; she didn't say see. She doesn't see them, not anymore. Can't see anything. Look at her face for a second or two, and if _that's_ not obvious, you're probably blind too.

She's an earthbender, but she didn't really appreciate it until she stopping living. Which, incidentally, was the same time she stopped seeing.

Really want the full story? Fine. Not going to like it, though.

He clawed her eyes out.

Guy who… well, killed her, for lack of any better description? Yeah, him. Sicko, that one. Liked to play with meals. Also liked to make sure the meals couldn't actually play back. So he did that to her. She always says it that way: "I got my eyes clawed out", not "I'm blind". _Blind _equals helpless. _Eyes clawed out_, on the other hand, makes people feel sympathy. Pity. She can vaguely remember feeling those kind of things, and knows that it's an advantage. Getting your prey to pity you? Until they invent a man-eating kitten that can play dead (or something), she's pretty much got a monopoly on that.

Except the guy got staked before he got done with her. Funny thing, this. They—by which she means him and her, the creatures they are—are magic beings, half spirit, and you don't kill a spirit. So the body can die—host, if you want—but the spirit goes on. It finds a new body, one that's been bitten, one that's already infected.

Guess who.

Course, by the time the mob who'd staked the first blood-drinker worked it out, she was well out of staking range. And blind. And_ thirsty_.

But enough about her. The couple's drawing close. They're a boy and a girl, both tall and muscular in a lean, wiry way. From what she can make out, the girl's pretty, and he's handsome. They hold hands. Cute.

They stop, and they're looking at her. Their hearts pick up slightly, and through the silent summer air, she catches the word 'spirit' and 'Solstice'.

_Today,_ she thinks, _really? Damn, that's so theatrical_, and then, _actually, when someone goes missing on the Solstice, it's a much smaller deal, isn't it? No blame on you._ It's a good thought, and she grins as it crosses her mind. Long, dagger-like teeth where her canines should be glint in the moonlight. The boy and girl are watching warily, and after a moment they wonder what kind of spirit girl has fangs. Because they haven't heard of any spirits only... only stories, about monsters... which don't exist, right?

The girl never has time to change her mind about this.

Why? Simple. She's closer. It's the ultimate wrong place, wrong time. The ground rises up and swallows her feet, sending her tumbling to the ground as the current earthbender, soon-to-be blood-drinker surges forward on a wave of earth. She knocks the girl sprawling, grabs her neck in one hand. She's got the strength of a platypus-bear, speed of a swordsman, and there isn't a creature alive that can stand in her way.

_Snap_. The girl falls limp. Clean kill—_good._

The boy stares, breathing fast, but to his credit, he doesn't turn tail. She's vaguely impressed, and slightly pleased: she hates chasing her meals—where's the fun in that? No, getting your eyes torn out of their sockets turned her off toying with _her_ food, oddly enough—and also, she likes the brave ones. They've got more flavor.

He scrambles, draws a sword with a _shick_ of metal on metal, holding it up guardedly. He's afraid, but not reluctant, just because she looks like a girl his age. Again, impressed. And that's really not something she is very often.

But he's still got no chance.

He lunges, and she grabs the sword mid-arc, wrenching the metal aside as if it were tin foil. His heart freezes for a moment in shock, and then his fist clenches and he swings at her. She snatches the hand out of midair too, twisting it back until something snaps. He roars in pain, staggering back. Her nails have dug into the flesh, and blood's running down his hand.

Now, bloodlust, _real_ bloodlust, isn't just an emotion. It's a state of mind. Sharks do this too—they call it 'feeding frenzy'—when they get the scent and _need_ it. This kind of hunger is a beast of its own, throwing back its head and screaming inside her, clawing at the inside of her ribs as though it could break out and sink its jaw into it prey, because she's not doing that fast enough. She lunges, and a second later she has him pressed up against the fence on the other side of the road, one arm folded across his chest to pin him there, the other hand yanking his head back by the hair just above the nape of his neck. He doesn't have time to cry out before she bites.

_Jugular—oh, spirits, so good—thick, rich—she knew he'd be delicious…_

It's ecstasy, better than anything, better than sex—which, having lived a hell of a long time, she's had a few times, and decided is overrated. He gasps out loud as she drinks, loudly, not missing a drop, her tongue working across the skin to catch drips. As she gorges, he goes limp.

It's funny how different this is, she knows, for each of them. For him—and she's sure of this, because she remembers—it's pleasure more than he's ever known, more than he can even process. That's the venom in her fangs doing its job. Eliminates the struggle: evolution's set her up well.

But she can't feel that. There's nothing _sensual _about it for her. They're different species. This isn't _violation_, by their terms. She's not human, not even close; she needs different things to survive, she senses differently, she moves differently. She's a predator, and this is no more romantic than a lion on top of him, tearing his throat out.

But for _him_…

He presses into her, back arching as he seizes up, wracking his body for a way to react to this level of bliss. He's paralyzed by his own libido, she thinks, gone, and soon he'll be _gone_, too, if you know what I mean…

"_Let me go_."

She's so shocked, she stops. Freezes, there, teeth clamped on his neck. Blood's overflowing her lips, streaking both their skin, but she's too stunned to care.

This is the ultimate pleasure. She's honest; she can face the truth, and she's spent her entire existence missing those few moments where the original blood-drinker's teeth were on her neck and, despite the pain that was surely there, she didn't even care about her eyes, or sudden lack thereof.

But he wants her to stop.

Because he wants to live_ that badly._

And all of a sudden she's hesitating, because she's got the girl to drink, so she's still got a meal, maybe she could stop with him, and then…? She knows she's special, she's got spirit in her, but they say that the bitten ones are almost the same. Blood-drinkers, almost as strong, as fast, and they live forever until they get stupid. Only difference—she's heard, all theory—is that only the demi-spirits, the _real_ ones, can make new bloodsuckers.

The ones like her.

She's been a solo act til now, but this boy… she likes him. He's handsome, she sensed that, and strong—she feels that—and he's a fighter. As partners go, she doesn't find many better candidates.

Blood's pulsing out of him, painting his shoulder red. _Tick, tock_, she thinks, _tick, tock. _

She pulls away.

He slumps into the fence, collapsing to the ground. He feels the pain now—she knows, because she did too, her breaking body burning off the venom like a too-small dose of medicine. It hurts him now, and he's still bleeding.

He won't need blood any more, though.

She steps back, surveys him. He's shaking faintly. Shock?

_He'll live_, she thinks, and then grins wryly. _Sort of._

She raises a hand and rock rises around him, enveloping his body like armor. She twitches a finger and, with all the grace of a possessed suit of armor, he steps forward. Excellent. The girl can't feel anything any more, so Toph grabs her by her broken neck, starting to walk away. Her new companion lurches after her, increasingly smoothly as she works out how to guide him. A whim—spirits, and when was the last time she had _whims_?—seizing hold of her, she beckons the boy closer with a jerk of her hand. His eyes are wide, unfocused, and he's very pale. She grabs his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"Tell me your name," she says, quietly but clearly, in a tone of voice that lets him know she expects an answer. When it was her, she could scream and beg for the ecstasy again, so there's no excuse for him not being able to talk.

He shudders, gasps, convulsing at her touch. "Sokka," he hisses, eyes already rolling into his head, half-delirious.

"Sokka." She lets him go, rolls it around experimentally in her mouth.

She likes it.

"Nice to meet you, Sokka," she says, and then digs her feet into the ground with purpose. A bulge of rock swells beneath her, and suddenly she's surging forward, surfing across the earth on her wave of rock. The pain's too much, clearly, because he's passed out, but she keeps him moving like a puppeteer, skating beside her. He isn't a bender, she muses, but then again, he's a swordsman. And he's a fighter.

Which is good. Because she's got high standards, and he's going to have to be pretty dangerous to keep up.

* * *

**Okay. First? THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the reviews. Damn, I wish I'd known you were all so opinionated on Twilight earlier!**

**This is the second and definitely final vampire-related piece (the first being the previous chapter). Because vampires kinda used to be cool, and because they'd still be if not for, you know, the fact that they're now just dead (no, not undead; dead as in expired, has-beens.) **

**But, thanks for reading. Reviews are always appreciated!  
**


	29. Eternal

**#97. Eternal**

**I planned to write a Toph/Katara conversation where I was nice to Katara... but evidently I'm just not good at that.  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

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Toph had never seen Katara quite so harassed.

And she'd known Katara a _very_ long time.

"So the kids are great," said the waterbender with determined cheer, setting down her teacup on the table. "Babies can really cry, though—Enkai's been up all night, lately, and Aang's always so tired from his meetings and traveling, so I'm usually the one who gets up to take care of him. Not that I mind, of course"—a pause for breath; a deep swig of tea—"I love the kids, but they can be such a handful!"

She stopped again, this time for a harried giggle with no humor behind it. With a little shiver, Toph surveyed what had become of one of her best friends. Katara, in the seven years since the war's end, had undergone no remarkable changes—at least, in comparison to Aang, who, at age sixteen, had at last found his growth spurt—but motherhood weighed heavily on her. She hadn't quite lost the last of her weight from Enkai, now ten months old, and there was something tired-er about her, a weariness juxtaposed but not quite hidden by the frenetic, high-strung demeanor superimposed over the top. Two children and three years of marriage had burnt Katara down like a melting candle.

In three months, the waterbender would be twenty-two.

Toph resisted a violent urge to shudder.

"Am I coming off badly? Toph, I'm sorry—I just haven't talked to another adult besides Aang in weeks," confessed Katara suddenly. "I'm just so… _occupied_. The thing about having kids is that…" She took a deep breath, continuing weakly, "It's suddenly all about them. I don't _remember_ the last time I had an entire day all to myself. Even Aang—it's suddenly like the whole romance part of it is gone, you know? With Yora in the terrible twos, and him working all the time, I don't really see him so much. He's always busy."

"Well, he shouldn't be," Toph replied firmly, frowning at her friend. Katara, conversely, was anything but firm. Katara was gelatin right now, in fact, ready to dissolve at the slightest hint of heat, and Toph intended to do something about it—not particularly for the children's sake, or for Aang, but because seeing the waterbender like this was downright _creepy_.

Katara paused. "Toph, it isn't his fault."

"The hell it's not!" she snapped. "Katara, you're married! You've got _kids!_ He doesn't get to go running around the Four Nations because he feels like it!"

"But… it's different when you're married," said Katara softly. Gone, suddenly, was the brief lapse in faith; the thin-lipped, threadbare smile was back, the brittle hopefulness with it. "We're going to be together forever, Toph. We don't need to spend our every waking moment together."

"You keep telling me you don't _talk_ when he comes home," Toph retorted. "Not all married people are like that, Katara."

"We're just busy at the moment," Katara declared imperiously. "When Enkai and Yora are a little older, everything will calm down for us. We're just going through a… a tricky phase."

"_Marriage_, Katara, appears to be the tricky phase."

"You'll understand soon enough," Katara said sagely, draining her teacup. "It's not about how much time we spend together. It's about being a family together. You and Sokka want children, don't you?"

Toph promptly choked on a sip of tea.

"Not until I'm at least _thirty_!" she gaped, spluttering. "I've got a freaking job to worry about, and I like bending, and traveling, and… and _kids?_" She set down the cup, shaking her head fervently. "Spirits, Katara, I don't know how to take care of a kid!"

"Nobody does," Katara muttered. "But you learn, I suppos—_Yora!_"

Yora—a waterbender as well—had, until that moment, been quietly levitating the water out of a vase behind Katara. The moment her mother cried out, however, she immediately dropped the water. Toph flinched at the splash, waiting for it to splatter across the floor, but Katara whirled, flinging out a hand. The water froze an inch from the floor, suspended in midair.

"Katara?"

The waterbender lifted her hand slowly, fingers contracting as she siphoned the water back into the vase. Thus accomplished, she stared at her hand, looking astonished by what she'd just done. "I haven't bent," she mumbled, "in _weeks_…"

Toph's jaw dropped. "_How?"_ she demanded. "Katara, that's just weird. Bending's part of who you are; you can't just _not_… _Katara?_"

Her friend was staring at her hand, looking entranced. "I didn't remember I could even do that," she continued, still in the same eerie, dazed tone. "I just don't… I don't have _time_ any more…"

Her voice was faintly strangled. Belatedly, Toph wondered if the shock of it was too much for Katara, and prayed silently that her friend wouldn't start crying. Toph was not good with crying things. Not good _at all._

Fortunately, Enkai beat her to it.

The wail started low in his throat and escalated in a matter of milliseconds until Toph fought her urge to clap her hands over her ears. Yora, still shocked by her mother's unexpected display of talent and being yelled at, took it as encouragement, and began to shriek in harmony. Suddenly, Katara looked even more like she wanted to join them, but instead she leapt up, grabbing Enkai out of his crib. "Ssh," she crooned frantically, "ssh, Enkai, calm down, it's okay…" She lifted him up, stroking his back, and the boy coughed, convulsed, and then vomited on her shoulder. Katara gave a little yelp, like a kitten that had been stepped on.

Toph, in the midst of a battle with her gag reflex, felt Yora's gaze burning holes in her, the girl's snuffles loud and audible snotty. Toph was fairly sure she should be comforting the little girl, even though she was covered in fluid, and loud, and possibly even nauseous…

"Uh… space rock?" she offered, bending the bracelet off her arm and into a floating amoeba between her hands.

To her deep relief, Yora giggled, waddling over to swat at the rock. Katara, still cradling Enkai against her hip, swept an arm around Yora, yanking her daughter to her side. "I think maybe it's time I got them settled for their nap," she said. "Please come visit again, though… I haven't had company in…"—deep, shaky breath—"a _really_ long time…"

"Yeah, right," Toph nodded, trying to infuse excitement into her voice as she backed towards the door. "Well, this has been fun."

"I'll tell Aang you said hello," Katara threw in breathlessly. Yora, at the disappearance of the space rock, had begun to squall again. Toph grinned once, turned for the door, and made for it as quickly as she could without running.

It slammed shut behind her, and she set off briskly down the street, slowing to a halt when she was finally sure she'd put a safe amount of distance between herself and the house. _That_ had been a disturbing visit.

Absently, coming to a halt at the street corner, she paused, fingers reaching up to stroke the delicate, hand-carved necklace hanging parallel to her collarbone. It was a lot more intricate than the rings people gave each other back in the Earth Kingdom, and made to last a lifetime.

And her thoughts moved to Katara, who wore an almost identical necklace, and all the burdens—utter devotion to everyone but herself, never talking to Aang, fifteen pounds in all the wrong places, never_ bending_—it represented. She'd never seen that coming. And if it could happen to Katara and Aang, whose lives had used to make fairy tales jealous, it could happen to anyone, couldn't it?

The necklace felt tight around her throat, uncomfortably heavy, as she started down the street again.

* * *

"Something's wrong."

"With you," she retorted, but there was no force behind it. When Sokka raised an eyebrow, she sighed, sinking deeper into her armchair. "You want kids, right?"

He blinked. "Yeah, sure," he replied, "in the distant, distant future. Why?"

Toph let out a huff of breath, and as if it had triggered the landslide, a tumble of words followed right behind. "I saw Katara today," she blurted, "and Sokka, she looks miserable, and she says she doesn't even talk to Aang any more, and the kids… I mean, they cry all the time, and Enkai puked on her, and Katara doesn't even bend any more—did you know that?—and, I mean… are all married people like that?"

He laughed. "Do they all get puked on?"

He didn't seem to be taking this seriously enough, she decided. "Katara's boring," she explained quietly. "And so is Aang—not to everyone, but to each other. Does that always happen?"

Sokka tilted his head to the side, and then strode suddenly over to her, offering her a hand. As she took it, he smirked and yanked her up out of the chair, catching her in his arms. Frowning with concentration, he maneuvered his hand around to his belt, before extracting an object and presenting it to her. It was his boomerang.

"Toph," he said, "if I _ever_ get boring, feel free to hit me with this until I stop, please."

She hesitated, and then took hold of it with a grin. Tucking the boomerang into her own belt, and then stood on her toes to press her lips to his. She couldn't imagine what she'd been worried about. Them? _Boring?_

_Like hell_.

The necklace no longer seemed to weigh a thing.

* * *

**Tokka? BORING? Such shall be the day where pirates and ninjas make peace. And pigs fly. You know. Reviews are always appreciated!**

**P.S. Don't get me wrong. I love Kataang-it's pure, undiluted adorable. I just like stressing Katara out too... ^_^**


	30. Hands

**#50. Hands**

**I swear, I really did start out writing for the prompt. Summer just make me easily distracted (_squirrel!_)

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Know what's useful?

_Hands._

For example, if Sokka could use his hands right now, he'd already have the bastard standing three feet away pinned against the gas station's display window in an armlock, smashing his face into the glass; nonchalantly, he'd be waving off the late and now-unnecessary cops with the other. "S'all right, officer," he'd announce. "I've got it under control."

Yep, Sokka decides, that is _exactly_ what he would be doing if his hands were free.

Unfortunately, he's kind of duct-taped to a chair right now.

"That's all there is," he says, as the only other person in the building—short punk wearing a black knit ski mask, which is _never_ a good thing—starts to rifle through the cash register. "No cash. Everyone pays with credit cards."

The guy ignores him, lifting the plastic money-sorters out of the drawer. There's a very decent amount of twenties hidden under there. "Score," mutters the masked a-hole, and Sokka withers inside. Damn—now this guy's going to search the whole effing gas station, probably. As the punk shoves the money frantically into his bag, though, Sokka realizes his hands are shaking. It occurs to him that while, unfortunately, he's not actually doing a bad job, the robber seems pretty freaked out.

Finally—something he can _do_.

"Hey," he says, and gets ignored. "Hey. Duct tape? _Really?_"

He gets a filthy look for his trouble. "Come on," he says. "What, did you rob Staples before you came here? This is gonna wax my frigging wrists coming off. At least fork over for some rope, dude."

The robber stops, straightens, slams shut the cash register with a hollow clang. "If you don't shut up," he snaps, "there'll be duct tape on your mouth, too. Try cutting _that_ off." He gives Sokka a sideways glance as he speaks: he's got gray eyes, eyes that glint in a distinctly scary way. "Besides," he mutters, turning away, "y'think I've got cash for rope if I'm robbing a frigging gas station?"

This is actually a good point, but it's not why Sokka falls quiet. Something odd happened to the guy's voice just as he spoke. It went higher, but not, like, cracking; like, forgetting to stay low. Like a balloon, rising even though someone's trying to hold it down. Now, under other circumstances, he'd nickname the guy Squeaky and be done with it, but there's something weird about it. The robber, after a moment, seems to realize, and clears his throat loudly.

Sokka rolls his eyes. "And will there be anything else, sir?"

"I told you to keep your frigging mouth closed!" growls the masked man, but Sokka was more interested in hearing him talk than hearing what he had to say. His voice is low again, but, as Sokka listens, it comes across more and more oddly. It sounds unnatural, faked, sort of like the opposite of someone singing falsetto.

"Okay," he shrugs. "No problem. I'll rest it for when the cops get here. Plenty to tell 'em then."

"Screw you," snorts the thief. He's moving slowly around the area behind the counter, searching for anything that could pass as valuable. "Cops aren't coming."

"Uh-huh." Sokka leans back, inspects the ceiling innocently and, behind his back, struggles hopefully against the duct tape around his wrists. "Right. Yep. Of course they aren't."

Slowly, the robber turns, eyes now beyond _glinting_ and full-out _flashing_ at him. "If the cops come, my life is _over_," he snaps, his voice abruptly icy. "Look, I don't expect you to get it, but I'm not just being an asshole, okay? I wouldn't even do this if I didn't need it, but I _do_, so just shut your frigging mouth and keep your opinion to yourself."

It's a combination of the voice, which has started to get distinctly higher-pitched, and the hands. Sokka's watching the robber's hands during that nice little speech. See, originally he was really smart, had a pair of black gloves and everything, but when he was searching the cash register, he had to take off one glove to lift the tray out. His fingers aren't thick, or stubby, or hairy. In fact, they're pale and long, sorta thin, and Sokka can't make out a trace of hair. They're also—perhaps this was a giveaway—painted with chipped black nailpolish.

_He_ is, in fact, a _she_.

Plus, good things really do come in pairs, because as Sokka gives her a once-over—oh, man, no wonder she has such baggy clothes! Hiding boobs from a teenage boy… that's actually a pretty impressive one—he catches sight of something in the duffel back over her shoulder. In one corner, so small he wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't looking, is a tiny emblem: a green circle with a winged pig in the middle. Anywhere else, it might be just a flying pig, but here, he knows exactly what it is. There's only one family with a crest like that.

"You're Toph Bei Fong," he says quietly.

She stiffens, literally goes rigid, one hand suddenly clenching the countertop so tightly he's amazed she doesn't snap it. "What?" she mutters, after a second. "No, you retard… I mean, if I was a Bei Fong, wouldn't be robbing a frigging gas station, right?"

She's a better verbal liar than she is a physical one, and he might have believed her if he hadn't seen her first reaction. Unfortunately for Toph, however, he already knows he's right. "No," he persists, "you're Toph Bei Fong. I bet the cops'll be _really_ interested to find that out, huh?"

She's still looking away from him, so he can't watch her reaction, but suddenly her shoulders slump. "Screw it," she mutters. "Not like the cops aren't gonna be looking for me anyway."

And she reaches up and tugs off the mask, stuffing it in her bag with an expression that clearly says she never wants to see it again. Her hair is disheveled and sticking up in some places, and there are dark circles under her eyes. _She looks_, Sokka thinks, _really, _really _tired._

"_Brilliant_ friggin' idea," she mutters. "Rob a gas station… yeah, that was clearly a stroke of friggin' _genius_…"

Sokka's not quite sure she remembers he's there. Uncertainly, he clears his throat. She spins to scowl at him, and he frowns. "So you _are_ Toph Bei Fong?"

She gives Sokka a look. "And you're… retarded?"

He tries to hold up his hands in surrender, fails, and rolls his eyes. "So, uh, _why_ are you robbing a gas station?"

She walks over to the fridge, grabs some soda and, after a moment's deliberation, a jumbo-sized bottle of water. "Because I'm running away."

He blinks. "Uh, _why_?"

"_Because_," she snaps. "I'm getting the hell outta this place. That's not good enough?"

Sokka stares. "Why the _hell_ would you want to do that?"

She turns back to look at him, now holding four separate brands of beef jerky in her hands. _Oh,_ Sokka thinks dryly, _what a cultured country we live in._ "Why do you get to ask so many questions? I don't even know your frigging name!"

There's a pause.

"Sokka."

Toph jumps at the sound, nearly dropping the jerky. Her hands are trembling, and for the first time, he realizes she's not just edgy, she's verging on scared. "What?" she yelps.

"I'm Sokka," he clarifies. "How come you're running away?"

He's not sure why he's so curious, except he can't imagine why anyone that filthy rich would want to leave and go rob gas stations, _ever_, _especially_ if they're so scared_._ Plus, what else can he possibly do? He's taped to a chair. He feels he should at least make some effort to do _something_, and since she never taped over his mouth, this is the best he can manage.

Her eyes narrow. "Fine. You want a freaking reason?" she demands. "_Because_, my dad's an a-hole, and I'm not gonna live with him any more."

Okay, he gets it. His dad's cool, but he knows plenty who aren't—Zuko, exhibit A. But _still_. Suck it up, right? Besides, girl pulled a gun on him; he doesn't have to _sympathize_ with her. And come to that… "Hey, where'd you get a _gun_?" he asks, staring at her. She _can't_ be old enough to carry one of those, let alone point it at his face.

"Don't hafta tell you," Toph snaps. "It's in the Constitution. Right to bear arms, and all."

"Don't think that covers attempted robbery."

"_Attempted_?" She snorts. "You're duct-taped to a chair. I'd call it a pretty good _attempt_."

"You have not explained the gun."

She sighs, stuffs the entire handful of jerky into her bag. "Stole it from my old man," she admits.

"And figured that was a _good_ idea?"

"You suck at keeping your mouth shut."

"How _old_ are you?" he demands, stunned.

She shrugs. "Eighteen."

"Then you'll be out of the house in a year… less, even, right?" She gives him a 'get-to-the-point' look, and he finishes, "Doesn't this seem a little… melodramatic?"

The final word in his question stretches out and dwindles to a whisper under her withering look. "Do you know anyone who arranges marriages for their kids anymore?" she asks softly.

"Eh… no?"

"Well, you do now."

He cringes, because he's not going to pretend like that doesn't suck. "You don't get any choice?" She exhales sharply, shaking her head, and he frowns. "Okay, okay, so your dad's an ass. What about your mom, though, can't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't care," Toph replies, leaning wearily against the side of a shelf. "Doesn't like me, anyway." When Sokka raises his eyebrows, she glares. "Yeah, I know what you think, but it's true. I don't exist to be their kid, I exist as a means of financial gain. Namely, because they can fork me over to whoever the hell they want as collateral." She rolls her eyes. Her hands are curling into fists, and Sokka thinks unexpectedly that he can probably read them better than her face. "That's how the old man, anyway. For my mom…" She breaks off, with a threadbare laugh. "For my mom, I'm a pet," she deadpans, "and Poppy's more of a cat person."

_Yeowch._ He stares at her. "That's…" he starts, but trails off. There aren't words, and he thinks she understands that. It doesn't work that way. Parents don't trade kids, or bargain with them. "But they're your parents," he protests finally. "You're their kid. You're supposed to be the center of their frigging universe."

She eyes him with a shattered stare, fragments of pain glinting among the amusement, and then hefts her bag over her shoulder. "Guess we'll find out if that's true, huh?"

Her implication sinks in after a moment. "Are you going?" he asks.

Toph eyes him dubiously. "Would you like me to _stay_?" she retorts. In an instant, her face closes off, eyes narrowing at him. "Right—you think I'm retarded? If you wanna buy your cops a little time, at least be subtle."

_What? _"I'm not buying them time!" he snaps—and he really _isn't_, not anymore. "They're not even coming!"

"Uh-huh." She doesn't glance at him as she heads for the door. "Sure. And you're just going to let me go, if I like, because we're buddies now."

Her mistrust hits him like a slap. They were definitely connecting, he was sure, a second ago, and now she's acting like he's the one with a gun in his pocket. "You should get the hell out of here," he says flatly, "because I bet someone'll come sooner or later, but I'm not going to tell them who it was. Sounds like you've got enough to deal with without a record, too."

Her look of skepticism dims as she looks at him and finds him looking back, daring her to doubt him. "That's sweet," she says quietly, almost as if she means it. "Much appreciated, Sokka."

He half-smiles, despite himself. "No problem," he replies. "Good luck."

"I'll need it," she mutters, but she's grinning as she passes him, heading for the door. A second later, the problem hits him.

"Hey, Toph—you think you can untie me?"

She grins even wider, waving goodbye without looking at him. Waving with her incidentally _free_ hands—something he can't do, because _his_ are still taped together. "Toph!" he yells, but she's unlocking a beat-up car, getting in. "_Toph!_"

She ignores him, still smirking, and hops in, pulling out of the lot. He stares indignantly after her, but after a minute it's clear she's long gone. He settles sullenly down to wait, and decides that was kind of obnoxious. And he should really be pissed. And he _is._

But he's still rooting for her, anyway. Working here is _never _this interesting.

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**Some of them turn out long. Like this. Yeah, it did slowly drift further and further from the prompt... I mostly just liked this idea too much. Reviews are always appreciated!**

***Oh, and there is no difference between 'frigging' and 'freaking'. Toph just likes swearing.  
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	31. Help

**#27. Help**

**Sporadic cruelty to Suki all well and good, but I'm attempting to be nice (to her, at least) for once. Content thyselves with subtle Zutara-bashing instead ^_^**

**Dsiclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

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"So then Zuko was like, 'oh, so now you have a problem with the way I look?' and Katara completely flips on him, like, 'way to bring up the scar, Zuko; it's always about the scar, isn't it?', and he's all, 'well, is it?', and she goes, 'no, God, last time I tell you to get a haircut', and then _Azula_ was going past, and she was like, 'oh, I know you're not picking a fight with my family, bitch', and then she and Katara totally went at each other. Zuko looked like he wanted to kill himself." Suki paused for breath, grinning. "It was awesome."

"Zuko always looks like he wants to kill himself," Toph shrugged. "I give them until the end of the week before she goes back to Aang, tops."

"Are we betting on my sister again?"

Sokka appeared back onscreen again, wearing, like both his friends, pajamas and a massive grin. "Yes," said Toph, at the same time Suki demanded, "Okay, so what's the news?"

"She's on the phone with Zuko," he explained, glancing back suspiciously over his shoulder at his bedroom door in case his sister had been alerted to his recon mission. Having Sokka within spying range of Katara was an advantage both girls abused as often as possible. "And she sounds like she's over the whole fight thing." Wearily, he rolled his eyes. "_Girls_."

There was a brief silence. Suki smirked lightly, and Toph raised an eyebrow. "Not _you_!" protested Sokka hurriedly. "I mean… you guys aren't, like—"

"Girls?" Toph offered.

"No!" he blurted, as Suki snickered. "I mean, but I didn't mean you, I meant, like, other girls, like—"

Toph shook her head, grinning. "I'm going to get a soda," she declared, half-falling off her bed as she stood, setting the computer down on the mattress. "Back in a second, 'kay?" Suki chirped an agreement, and Sokka 'uh-huh'-ed vaguely as she ambled out of the room.

When Toph tramped up the stairs five minutes later, she had a can of Coke in her hand and felt significantly more awake already. Typically she'd walk into her room, set down the drink and fling herself onto the bed to announce her presence again, but something stopped her this time: maybe some of the only words that could possibly have given her pause.

"…We've been really good friends for a long time," Sokka said hesitantly, "and I really care about you. You're one of the most important people in my life, and I don't know where I'd be without you. So… I've got to tell you something."

As Toph's hand clenched unconsciously into a fist, the Pepsi can crumpled with a crack of metal and muted fizz of soda overflowing down her fingers.

_That was Sokka saying those things_, she thought slowly. _To Suki._ Being, as usual, painfully candid. But much more importantly, he was _asking Suki out_.

Now, as girls went, to be honest, Toph liked Suki. She was funny and nice and down-to-earth, and if Toph had to pick a best friend who was a girl, it would probably be her. But Suki knew—_being_ her best friend who was a girl, and since Toph couldn't tell Katara anything without having half the school know in five minutes—that Toph liked Sokka. A lot.

Just like she had last year, and the year before, and the year before that.

And pretty much forever.

But Toph's best friend, who she would do _anything_ for, was still asking her second-best friend out, _in front of her_.

She felt a sudden, sick pain in her stomach, and her breath caught for a second with the intensity of it. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't be angry with Suki, no matter how badly she suddenly wanted to—envy and anger are deceivingly different emotions—and she couldn't hate Sokka if her life depended on it. It wasn't his fault if he was oblivious, if he was tactless, even if he was downright _cruel_ without realizing it. That was just how he was.

She wanted to fling herself back into the dialogue and demand to know what was going on, but she was frozen, muscles locked into place. In front of her, the conversation continued.

"I'm not really sure how to say it, because this is the first time I've ever said it to someone and really understood what it meant. I can't imagine my life without you, and I don't know if you feel the same way about me, but I…"

A pause. He drew a breath. "I love you. And I think we should be together—not just, like, friends, but more than that. I know we've both dated other people but I don't like that; I don't want to date someone else. I care about you, and I don't want to lose you, ever. So please… I mean, think about it." Again, Sokka stopped, a silence full of hopeful, edgy anticipation. "Well," he said slowly, "what do you think?"

"Hmm." There was a pause, speculative in nature, from Suki's side of the exchange. "It was…"

"Good?" Sokka prompted. "It was okay, right?"

Toph's brow furrowed in confusion. She'd heard every word, plain to the point of being excruciating, and what Sokka was saying couldn't have been clearer. But now, he… wanted her opinion? What the hell _about_?

What in God's name was going on in her videochat?

"Heartfelt," Suki allowed. "I mean, very… very _sincere_, for sure."

"What was wrong with it?"

There was a short pause, broken suddenly by Suki's laugh. "I'm screwing with you," she informed him, grinning from the sound of her voice. "That was… that was really cute. Saying that as the innocent bystander in all this—you know." She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, it was softly and much more seriously. "Sokka, it's perfect," she murmured. "She's really lucky."

"Thanks," he replied, and then sighed. Toph, still frozen by the door, stood holding her half-crumpled Pepsi can like it was a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. "I didn't realize how hard it'd be just to say it," he admitted. "It's _scary_, Suki. What if she doesn't like me?"

"_Chill_," Suki interrupted. "Sokka, as your female opinion here, I'm telling you, you've got it made. Just say what you told me."

After a moment, he let out a deep breath, and Toph imagined a smile forming on his face. "You're a good friend."

"Yeah, I know," Suki agreed. "So, when are you going to tell her?"

"Next time I see her alone," he answered. "Probably tomorrow."

Suki let out a small squeal. When Sokka stayed silent, she cleared her throat. "Sorry," she said, not sounding it at all. "Just, um… oh my God!" She broke off, giggling. "You guys are just so _adorable_!"

"We're not even together," Sokka mumbled, sounding deliciously uncomfortable.

"Come _on_." Suki scoffed loudly. "Get over yourself. Sokka, Haru actually asked me if you two were, like, friends with benefits or whatever yesterday"—here, there was the sound of loud, strangled coughing from Sokka's end of the conversation, which Suki politely waited out before continuing—"and I had to be all, 'uh, no, but seriously, dude, don't try anything'—he looked way disappointed, for the record—but point is, seriously. You guys are more predictable than horny rabbits in a dark room."

"I am _not_ a horny rabbit," said Sokka sullenly, and then, "Wait, you think _she_ sees this coming, then?"

Suki giggled wildly for a moment, before choking down the reflex. "Sorry," she said. "You have no worries on that front. God love Toph, but, like, next to oblivious in the dictionary, there's just a picture of her fac—"

"Hi, guys," said Toph, sitting down the bed.

To her satisfaction, both of her friends jumped. Their faces, however, split immediately to polar opposites: Sokka looked shocked and then frantic, while Suki just grinned slyly, an expression that said '_and let the fireworks begin_'.

"I'm pretty tired, you know," she said pointedly. "I think I'm gonna turn in, Sokka. But I did so enjoy our little chat." She allowed the smirk to widen, and then added, "Enjoy your night, both of you."

A moment later, her face disappeared. Toph looked at Sokka and raised an eyebrow.

"So," she wondered, trying and failing to hide the shadow of a grin, "what were you guys talking about while I was gone?"

Sokka paused, looked down, and took a deep breath. Toph watched his shoulders rise and fall slowly, and was just about to doubt what she thought she'd heard when he looked back up at her again. "Toph," he said softly, "I've got something to tell you."

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**Based on a true story off a site called LoveGivesMeHope (think FML for sappy optimists), and frankly, too cute not to use ^_^  
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**Okay. Now. You all with me? How many of you think the only thing wrong with Avatar: the Last Airbender is that it's over? Right now, open another window and Google 'Avatar: Legend of Korra'. Then, _drop me a review if I didn't at least just make your day _;D**

**—****skrybble o_O  
**


	32. Ricochet

**#89. Ricochet**

**ANGST WARNING!****

****For those of you who the last one fooled, _this_ is what you'll see when Sukka's coming into play. Mobs, fetch your pitchforks...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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**It was a white wedding.

_Is _a white wedding. From beside the shining silver carriage, two pure white polar bear dogs pose and bare gleaming teeth against their reins. The bride and groom—him in blue, her in ivory—wave to their spectators, eyes alive with delirious happiness. Behind them, like a teenager finally catching up to its growth spurt, glows the newly rebuilt Southern Water Tribe's city, perhaps not so large yet as its Northern cousin but twice as proud. Everything but the sky is white, and that's blue, a color that smiles out on everything as if the spirits themselves approved.

Color-coordination. It's an exquisitely cruel way to disclude one girl who's gravitated to the corner, the perfect and perfectly miserable embodiment of '_always the bridesmaid'_. How the hell can she respond to people commenting on the white theme, or the beautiful snow lilies imported all the way from the bride's home island, or how large, how magnificent the church—built entirely of ice—is, doesn't she think? The groom's sister helped design the building for the occasion, did she know that? So, dear—_don't call me dear_, she thinks—how does she know the bride, being the maid of honor?

"I hear it's great," or, "Yeah, I did," or, "Old friends," Toph's deadpanned all day and then they get to leave her alone, and go socialize with the thousand and one other people who wanted to be here.

Even she knows something's going on right now, but she can't see it and doesn't care any more. She hates ice and water and being lost like this. For the first time in a long time, she feels like a little girl close to tears, and she just wants to go home.

She's the only one. Now there's a pause, a waiting, a shuddering, trembling anticipation from the crowd of girls and women clustered around the happy new couple. The bride—and doesn't she look _gorgeous_, isn't she just every girl's envy, couldn't you just _die_?—beams out at them, and then flings the bouquet of snow lilies out through the crowd.

They're a sea of hands, churned by superstition and eager hopes of finally-cornered beaus. The lilies skip across them like a pebble, like a dozen white-clothed ballerinas, and then—_then_—it happens.

The church was stone-floored, but the reception outdoors is snow, and not half so carefully maintained. Toph steps and skids and stumbles forward, her hands outstretched to catch her; the lilies ricochet Ty Lee's fingertips, leaving every boy in the immediate hundred meters subsequently disappointed—and, wonder of wonders, the flowers drop innocently in the flailing arms of the one girl who didn't care about catching them.

A cheer goes up as Zuko, standing tactfully nearby, grabs hold of Toph and steadies her. Toph blinks and runs her fingers along the bouquet slowly, analyzing the thick, crisp petals, the svelte contours of the stems, the carefully tied ribbon. Even she knows what it is. The crowd blinks at the new development and then a couple people wolf-whistle. Zuko pats her awkwardly on the shoulder, maybe even starts to pull away. Then sees her face and doesn't.

Sokka and Suki get into their silver carriage and the polar bear dogs take off towards the shore, where their boat's waiting for them. People shout, laugh, cry. Toph stands there looking like she wants to do at least one of the above, and maybe all three. Ty Lee turns to look at Toph, glancing from the bouquet to Zuko and back again, and groans.

"_Lucky,_" she mutters.

Toph's hands are shaking violently—literally, violently; she looks ready to breathe fire—and suddenly she drops the flowers.

_Lucky_ was too much; Zuko, frightened off by implications, has gravitated quickly back to Mai, and now no one's looking at Toph but Ty Lee and Katara. All the others are caught up in the bride and groom, too busy crying and waving—like Sokka and Suki have even noticed. There's two people in the crowd, just the two, that notice the pale little girl in the pretty dress, standing at the back of the crowd. She looks like broken china badly glued together.

Katara stoops down and picks up the flowers. "You… dropped these," she says, offering them to her friend.

Toph lashes out with no warning, smacking the flowers out of her hands and knocking them back to the snowy ground. A couple more rounds of that, and the lilies might look as trampled as she does. She turns and runs, and Ty Lee picks up the flowers and cradles them like an infant, and Katara glances around frantically and then chases after Toph because no one else will.

She follows the little trail of footprints that tell the story of skidding and sliding, stumbling to the ground once in her hurry. They end with a very small girl curled against the back of the huge, beautiful church, her face in her hands. Katara sits down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She's frighteningly cold.

"I'm sorry," says Katara.

It seems disjointed to a bystander, to make no sense at all, but it's sincere above all else. Katara's sorry for fate and the stupid loops and twists it throws, sorry for a ricochet of flowers and a cruelty that's no one's fault. Toph's hands slip down and reveal a pair of shattered eyes.

"I hate flowers," she says into her fingers. "They're so useless."

"I know," Katara murmurs: Toph's right; they are. There's no point having flowers, after all, when the only person you'd want to share them with is already gone.

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**Sometimes life sucks, ne? Particularly Toph's. Does it bother anyone else she's the only one at the end of the series w/o a_ hint_ of a love interest? Tsk tsk...  
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**Now, on a totally separate note, I'm wondering how many Zuko/Katara fans I have reading. There doesn't seem to be much overlap between Tokka and Zutara shippers, so I just thought I'd find out. Drop a review to let me know if you are**—**and even if you're not, they're always great to get anyway!**

**A Later Note (capitalized to look official): it's _not_ Toko. It's Zuko being her friend, but it's not romantic. And Ty Lee's just being Ty Lee ^_^  
**


	33. Adjust

**#98. Adjust**

**Huge thanks to Fagan, straight off, for letting me know this is happening now. I'm a day off, but I'll give it a shot, and try to catch up when I can. Now, here's the thing: having two separate stories of Tokka oneshots seems a little redundant, so all the Tokka Week prompts'll be fulfilled here. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
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_Tokka Week Prompt #1: Alone_

You live life alone when you're different.

She lives every second separate from the rest of everything. She repels; she's a magnet in reverse, and when she walks into a crowd, the crowd shifts away. Flinching's just like a gag reflex, she's realized, and you can learn to suppress it if that's what surviving takes. She's got to be tough because it hurts, that space they leave between them and her, that kind of empty.

But she's a survivor and she toughens like evolution meant. As long as she's rock through and through, she's safe. Anyway, alone doesn't hurt if it's on purpose. Nothing hurts if you can say it's on purpose; she can pretend this is and pretend she likes it. Pretend enough and maybe even she'll believe it too.

The thing is, people don't like what she is. She sees different and leads a different life from everyone else, and so she isn't like them. Soon she learns that that's what it's supposed to be like, that her world's just not like theirs and don't ask why. It's funny, living life in a bubble, because bubbles are one-way mirrors: you look from the outside and see them shine all the colors of the rainbow and they're beautiful; she looks out from within and everything around her is the same, and she's suffocating on the stagnant air.

But bubbles break and hers breaks, and she's gasping on pure oxygen because is this what it tastes like, the world? It's big and scary and loud, and is she sure she didn't like her bubble better? How does she know alone wasn't better? This world has beauty like nothing she's ever known, and it has sucker-punch pain like nothing she's ever felt.

Besides, the people here are scary too, scary and loud and so full of love they overflow with it and she chokes. Where's alone? Where's the things she know? So she shoves these strangers away because they don't get the message, that this is wrong and she's not like them and she belongs to a different corner of the world. She's caught in limbo, too stubborn to go back and too afraid to go forward.

Even in limbo, though, she finds time goes by, and there's nothing she can do about that. Things keep going and she grows without realizing. These people don't go away, either. They stay and stick to her and she starts to get used to them, to miss them if she wake up and doesn't hear them breathing a few feet away. But close is scary and she makes sure every night she makes her own tent, rock walls to keep the world at its distance.

She never admits that every night, she presses an ear to the crack in the rock and hear the breathing outside and she's far but not so far from everything as she was before. She's testing the water but she thinks she knows, in the back of her mind, that she's not really going to swim.

Around her the world moves. Slowly she starts to see how small her bubble was, and wonder how she stayed there so long and never questioned it. Suddenly she's a twig adrift on a river that's heading towards a waterfall and when she goes over she doesn't know if she'll make it. Currents pull at she like a thousand greedy hands and she thinks _is this what is it, not to be alone? _

She's not in control and crowds don't part around her; people run at her with swords and fire, and they'd hurt her if they could. She's good at something now but that only means more danger. She misses bubbles.

But…

But there is a but.

But love's contagious and the no-longer-strangers start to talk to her like they talk to each other, and they'd all die for each other, and maybe that scares her but she thinks she'd die for them too.

And then the day comes and she hits the waterfall. Abruptly, she's falling and nothing feels real, not even gravity, not in midair. The ground's flying up towards her but she can't stop it, just wait and let it scare the hell out of her.

And then—

And then the sky turns to fire and she's falling and there's no ground, just gaping air that'd eat her in a single gulp. She's going to die, not even for them, just because it's a war and that's what happens, people die, and for everything that happened she's still alone again at the end.

But then a hand grabs her wrist. He's broken through and through just like she is, but he's got her. He's holding her safe and she's crying—that's wrong, she doesn't _cry_—but it's beautiful, this sky set on fire and the skeleton trees blazing beneath her and the cinders whirling up like a million birds to the sky, and how even in the middle of all the hurt someone's there to catch her. This is what it's like outside her bubble, and it kills her—but this moment is worth all the pain, this hand around hers that says he's got her, even when it doesn't matter and Boomerang's not coming back.

"It looks like this is the end, Toph," he says. She breathes in and tastes the flames.

And suddenly there's a crash and a drop and a scream that might be hers, and then she's rolling. She comes to a slow stop and she's not dead; she's alive, and so is he. They're safe. Her skinned hand shivers with the echo of his against it.

Then it hits her, as he races over to her and grabs her into a hug that's like being wrapped in sunshine, and she buries her face in his shoulder. She's shaking badly, and he runs his hands up and down her back and through her hair as if he needs to keep reminding himself they're both real. But it's not him who needs reminding.

She's not alone any more.

It's raining fire like phoenix tears, and as the rock inside her shivers and cracks, she smiles.

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**Six more to come! It might be cheating to double up for Tokka Week and the 100, but it seems a little redundant to have two stories of Tokka oneshots going (to me, anyway). So here's the deal: ****these oneshots are going to get added to 100 as a dual-prompt thing. This is _also_ a take on Tokka Week's Prompt #1, Alone, just published here. Savvy?**

**Aaaaand, yeah, just a tad angsty-touchy-feely. Something happy for tomorrow, I promise.**** Expect a oneshot a day, ****so this is going to be intense. Stick with me, guys. Reviews are always awesome!  
**


	34. Female

**#30. Female**

**Ay-yah. Seeing as I started Tokka Week a day late (****and I'm having trouble writing a oneshot for the prompt 'Touch'; how screwed is that?) ****I'm skipping a day to get back on schedule. Refresher: This is Tokka _100_ prompt #30, Female, and Tokka _Week_ prompt #3, Moonlight. I would offer a deep reason, but mostly I'm lazy.  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

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_Tokka Week Prompt #3__: Moonlight_

Everything looked different in the moonlight, including his best friend. That was all it took.

The thing is, realizations come to people in many different forms. Some people understand things slowly as they grow older, and grow continually wiser as they do. Other people, like Sokka, realize things very suddenly, and are often left like fish yanked out of water, gasping for air under the magnitude of their epiphany. His sudden revelation that night was no different from all his usual ones, and came with the aid of some slightly different lighting and a dress.

It was a beautiful night for the end-of-war anniversary ball. The moon shone like a Christmas ornament in the middle of a velvet backdrop, all still, diginified grace in the same sky that had held Sozin's comet only three years ago. The Fire Nation palace gardens were a new world that had been iced in silver, scribbled by an artist drunk on their latest pallet. Shadows swooped and dove, patchworking the ground, and Sokka's friends he'd known for years all look new and mysterious in the not-quite-darkness. Clearly, Yue had been having fun with this one.

In the middle of the courtyard, he'd been swaying awkwardly in place—to call it dancing would have been a stretch—next to Suki. She was startlingly makeup-less and looked pretty out of her uniform. He had been remembering when he didn't recognize her like this, the second time he saw her. He hadn't seen her for a year—she'd been training with her warriors—and he might not have recognized her anyway today. Because she looked so happy, he went to a lot of effort to explain how he had been really busy since they broke up too, what with all that free time he had got now, but the truth was, negotiations weren't half as much fun as playing ninja with fans probably was, and he was a little jealous.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

So he was plenty grateful when the song, which he had barely noticed until it had finished, came to an end, and Suki pulled away. "I'm going to go talk to Haru," she explained, with a tilt of her head towards the earthbender. Sokka fought a look of disbelief—Haru had grown a stupid goatee to go with the stupid mustache, and Sokka had actually been planning to make fun of it until she'd said that. He was sort of glad he hadn't now.

Actually, no, he wasn't. He'd caught hell from _everyone _when he experimented with facial hair a few months ago. It was a total double standard.

"Right," he said. "No problem. I've been meaning to catch up with…"

He trailed off, glancing around hopefully for a female acquaintance to name that would suitably irk Suki, but there wasn't anyone. It occurred to him with a jolt that he really didn't have a lot of friends who were girls. It was kind of depressing. "Well, a lot of people," he finished lamely, but then he looked down to find Suki had already left.

_Whatever._ He decided maybe Toph, if she was here yet, would appreciate the mustache comment, anyway (and with the things she said about _his_ goatee, it'd be only fair.) He craned his neck to look over the heads of gossiping socialites, and then, standing just by the entrance in a spangled patch of moonlight, he saw her.

To be fair, he was wearing a suit, but he still looked like himself. If she hadn't had that unfocused stare, or carried herself in that completely Toph-like way, a slouching swagger that reeked of wasted noblilty, he might not have known her. Even after he'd wrapped his head around this being _Toph, _her dress—her _in _the dress—hit him just as squarely as her fist would have. Silk, the misty green of trees through a thick fog, wound around her curves—since when did she have _those?_ Why the hell had nobody _informed _him?—and the fabric gleamed such a bright silver she might as well have been wrapped in light.

She didn't pull any punches, he thought weakly, even when she wasn't trying to hit him in the first place. To his shock, he found his eyes lingered on her, his breath stumbling over itself as he worked up the nerve to walk over. She didn't look like his best friend any more. Why, he wondered, helplessly and completely disorientated, did she suddenly look so like… a _girl?_

He didn't tell her she looked beautiful, not in as many words. He sauntered up to her with a quirk of his eyebrows, inquiring, "Fashionably late, Miss Bei Fong?" and then adding, "You look nice." His voice—_thank spirits_—managed not to crack, and she just rolled unseeing eyes, muttering something about hating dresses. Cool, collected, he offered a hand, and she took it, a smirk dancing on her lips at the little game they played. Tonight, after all, they were ambassadors, adults, and not the inexperienced children that, despite everything, they still found themselves to be.

And she was gorgeous, but he didn't say a word, and she left after a couple minutes, leaving him lost as a planet without its sun. That night at the party she danced with a hundred people, and he danced with three—none of them the one he wanted—and then sat in the corner with a drink and a gaze that didn't waver from her.

It was the light, the way it had hit her just there. Anyone could look different in the right light. It was the unexpectedness of it, the novelty. Surely, just that.

Until his eyes found her without fail, even when there were no boys to protect her from, and she sat off to the side, laughing about something with Zuko and Mai—not that either of the pair had a sense of humor, and to that end, if Mai did, it had probably committed suicide by now. He watched her from across the courtyard, making snarky mental comments, and should have said something, should have told her—_because whatever he could possibly say must at least be more entertaining than the conversation she was having_—but he didn't. It wasn't until Katara approached, waving a hand across his vision, that he looked away.

"What's _wrong_?" she wanted to know, and he murmured, "Toph."

"What about her?"

His eyes, of their own accord, had made their way back to her. "She's a _girl._"

His sister raised her eyebrows. "You just noticed?"

But he didn't reply. It was the light, was all. Just the light, and the dress, and her eyes, and…

_The light_, he told himself firmly. And _only_ the light.

Until the next day, when he woke up with _what ifs_ that hurt more than the hangover; determinedly, he went to find her, and his fist was banging on her door before he could think to stop it. As he raised his hand to knock again, the wooden door swung open, and he froze.

Everything had looked different in the moonlight, and it would have been easy to tell himself that was all. Barely had she pulled open the door, though, then he realized that it had never been any difference at all. What looks new in the different light is really just a new perspective, an unseen facet brought to your attention, and once you see it, you don't _un_see it again. She stood there in a tank top and baggy shorts, the rumpled clothes telling him she'd just rolled out of bed, and she looked slightly hung over too—now _that_ was the Toph he knew—but she was still a _girl_.

And—moonlight or no—she was still beautiful.

She raised her eyebrows, staring at him through her dark bangs, and he had trouble believing that someone with a gaze that piercing really couldn't see. She started to open her mouth, to ask exactly why he thought it was a good idea to wake her up.

"What's so damn import—"

He cut her off.

"You're beautiful," he said. "I didn't tell you last night. You looked beautiful and you still look beautiful, now, I mean, even though you just woke up and the light's different and you're not wearing that dress, but you're still just as pretty as you were last night, and I kind of want to kiss you, but… no, damn, I mean, that's not the point: the point is, I wanted to tell you last night, but I didn't, so I had to tell you now." He stopped for a deep breath, before finishing, "_That's_ what's important."

Inside, Sokka weakly admitted he had hoped that she might burst into her own confession, declaring her own secret passion for him, or at _least_ that he could earn a kiss for that. She could at least have had the decency to blush—it didn't even have to come with a hopeful little smile.

Oh, no. No such luck.

She raised an eyebrow.

Yes: Toph had the _temerity_ to listen to his lovestruck, from-the-heart monologue, and _raise an eyebrow._

"Well?" she said.

He reeled as if from a blow. "_Well?_" he echoed incredulously.

Her lips pulled back like curtains to expose her insufferable little smirk.

"You're on a roll," she said, pressing her lips together to hide the laughter. "Why the hell are you stopping now?"

His heart swelled in his chest, growing wings, flinging itself against his ribs and threatening to burst away completely.

"I'm not," he said.

And he bent down.

A newfound girl and a boy, both headachy and disheveled, kissing on the doorstep at eight in the morning. It was inconceivable, impossible, insane, and also, Sokka decided, absolutely incredible. Right before he lost all ability to think straight, he managed to send Yue all the mental gratitude he could muster, and to wonder hazily why all it had taken was a new light to see this right in front of his face.

Toph, meanwhile, was thinking something along the lines of, _Took you damn long enough, idiot_, and rapidly deciding that the wait had still been worth it.

* * *

**Gah. This updating-every-day thing is haaaard. There's going to be more than one keyboard-faceplant this week. But I will survive, and another one'll be up tomorrow, nonetheless. Goes without saying, I'm sure, that reviews will make my day right about now ^_^**


	35. Games

**#35. Games**

**Definition: what Toph plays with Sokka's head. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed—every one only makes me write faster! In other news, I'm beginning to adjust to the keyboard-faceplanting, which might be good or bad...  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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_Tokka Week Prompt #4__: Boomerang_

A lone fox antelope lifted its head from grazing, liquid doe eyes darting anxiously from side to side, and then dropped its head back to the clump of grass it was enjoying, tail giving a vulpine twitch of pleasure. It was a full-sized young stag, enough to feed everyone for dinner that night, and Sokka allowed himself a faint grin before reaching for his boomerang. His eyes, dark and narrowed in fierce concentration, were fixed on the creature as it munched blithely on a mouthful of green. It wouldn't even know what had hit it.

He tugged the boomerang smoothly from its sheath at his side, frowning as he drew it over his shoulder. Easy: one quick motion, a single snap of his arm, the power flowing through his wrist and into the weapon as it wheeled in like a vulture towards his prey…

He swung back his arm, biting his tongue as he aimed, and—

"_Sokka! Where's the meat, already?"_

He jumped and whirled towards the noise, and quite apart from his own control, his arm spasmed forward. The boomerang went flying off in front of him, circling from view in an instant. The next, there was a crack and a sharp cry of pain, like a rock smashing glass, followed by the abrupt _thud_ of someone hitting the ground hard.

The fox antelope's head swung up in shock, and it was gone in a flicker of auburn, but Sokka didn't notice. His heart jumped into his throat, all but strangling him with panic, and before he had even processed the voice he was sprinting towards it, begging it not to be serious, begging that he hadn't heard who he thought…

He shoved through the thicket of bushes where he'd been waiting, scrambling down a slight, rocky slope, and then he saw her.

On the ground.

Motionless.

Suddenly, she looked much smaller than usual.

"Toph!" he blurted, falling to his knees next to her. Boomerang was on the ground a couple feet away, and he grabbed for it, only to drop it in horror a moment later. Its edge was stained in dark, ominous red.

"Toph," he repeated, grabbing her shoulder and rolling her over as gently as he could. Her head lolled against the grass, painting a streak of crimson across the summer green. Eyes wide with terror, he ran his fingers along the back of her head until he traced a gash along the side of her skull above her ear. It was already swelling.

His heart was instantly gone from his throat, sinking instead in the pit of his stomach like a rock. He wanted to grab her and shake her, to hyperventilate or maybe curl in a ball and tremble with guilt, but a small piece of logic clawed its way to the top of his mind. He bent down closer to her instead, his ear just above her mouth, listening. She _was_ breathing, but faintly, and each intake of air shuddered as it passed across her lips.

"Toph," he hissed, sitting back up and stroking her hair gently back from her face, "Toph, wake up; please, Toph, come on, don't die, I didn't even mean to throw it—"

Suddenly she groaned, eyelids fluttering restlessly, and then her lips parted. "Sokka?" she croaked.

"Oh, Spirits!" he exploded, slumping in relief. "Toph, you're okay! Thank goodness… Toph, I'm so, so, _so_ sorry—!"

"Sokka," she whispered faintly. "Sokka…"

He quieted in an instant, leaning closer. "What is it?"

"Sokka," she said flatly, voice no longer quite so feeble, "I can't feel my feet."

He stiffened, eyes widening as he struggled to convince himself he'd misheard her. "What?"

"Where are you?" she demanded, panic now rising audibly in her voice. She clenched a fist by her side, banging it furiously against the ground, before reaching towards him with the other hand. About a foot off target, it groped wildly in midair. "Sokka, help me, I can't see!"

He grabbed the hand as it drifting through the air, and his friend jumped almost comically. "I'm right here," he said nervously. "Don't worry; it's going to be okay…"

"It's not okay!" she snapped, raising herself up on her elbows. "I can't freaking _see_! Who the hell did this to me?"

_Um… actually, Toph, that would be me_.

He glanced away, pressing his lips together as he searched fearfully for an explanation that wouldn't end with him buried somewhere near the earth's core. "I… you surprised me while I was hunting, and the thing is, I'd been about to throw Boomerang, and it sort of… slipped?"

The sentence limped toward the finish, growing ever feebler, until he trailed off pathetically. Toph's face darkened, flat eyes suddenly murderous.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Let me get this straight. You _hit_ me with your boomerang."

"Um," he said hopefully. "By accident?"

"Get away from me!" she spat, jerking back her hand. "Spirits, Sokka, what the hell were you thinking? You're actually telling me that I'm legitimately blind now, just because you can't freaking _aim_?"

Actually, she was blind because he _could_ aim, very well, but somehow Sokka doubted that was the right answer. "I'm sorry," he said timidly, and she made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, sitting up determinedly. She made it to her knees, and then doubled over forward, face screwed up in pain.

"My _head_," she moaned, hands massaging her temples. "Spirits…"

"Here," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, but she nearly fell over backwards in her rush to get away from him. "I've _got it!"_ she snarled, forcing herself upwards to her feet.

For a moment she swayed in place, and then staggered forward all at once. He lunged forward, catching her mid-fall against his chest. She hung, motionless, in his arms for a moment, before pulling away just enough to speak. Sokka stared down and nearly did a double take—her eyes, usually so flat and glassy, were suddenly brimming with tears. "Sokka," she whispered, "I'm scared."

"I know," he replied, smoothing her hair back from her face in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "I know, Toph. I'm going to take you to see Katara, okay?"

She squeezed her eyes closed, nodding jerkily. "Is it… okay if I carry you?" he asked cautiously—not that he didn't think she could look out for herself or anything, but with a bleeding head and that kind of balance, there was no way she was going to make it back to the house with only these injuries. Again, a tiny nod, and he wrapped an arm under her legs, swinging her up into his arms in a single fluid motion. She rested her head against his shoulder, perfectly and eerily silent.

He kicked the door open as soon as he reached the house, shouldering his way in. Katara came running as soon as her name was called, and gasped aloud at the sight that met her: Sokka, wide-eyed and channeling all the panic he kept out of his voice into his expression; Toph curled up in his arm, a growing stain of red running down alongside her ear and dripping across her shoulder. Sokka gave a rushed explanation as Katara dragged both of them to the living room, berating him mercilessly about 'carelessness' and 'compete and utter _idiocy_' as soon as Boomerang came into it. Except to interject a couple pitiful agreements, Toph stayed quiet.

He finally set her down on the couch, and Katara jerked her head meaningfully towards the door. Needing no further explanation, he slunk for the exit like a kicked puppy. At last Katara turned to Toph, drawing a ball of water from her bag and guiding it to the cut. The skin knit together in a matter of moments, and, after sponging as much blood as she could away from Toph's clothes and neck, froze it and wrapped it in a rag.

She passed to Toph, murmuring, "Ice it if it hurts," and the girl obliged immediately. At last Katara sat back on her heels, eyeing her friend for a moment, before inquiring, "Exactly how long are you planning to keep this up?"

Toph's eyes widened in disbelief. "Excuse me?" she demanded.

"The act," Katara deadpanned. "You're lucky you've only got a flesh wound, but it's just a cut and a bruise. You might be concussed, but there's no way on earth you can't feel your feet just because of that cut."

Toph paused, staring off at the wall in a way that might have been pensive if she were actively using her eyes. At last, lowering the ice from her head, she remarked, "You're kind of the smarter sibling, aren't you?"

"Toph!" Katara gasped, shocked. "I can't believe it! Did you see his _face?_" When Toph raised a single eyebrow, Katara flushed, but persisted, "He thinks you're really hurt!"

"I am."

The older girl shook her head. "You've emotionally scarred him, you know."

"Good."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Katara mused conversationally, "Didn't know you could cry on command."

"You learn," Toph replied in the same calm tone. "In my family. And then there's the whole, you know, _pain_ aspect of it that helps."

"Ah," Katara said lightly. There was a brief pause, while she capped her water-pouch, and then Toph wondered, "So, are you... going to tell him?"

"What? Oh, no," Katara replied matter-of-factly, barely glancing up. "The more reasons he has not to play with his boomerang, the better." She hesitated, and then repeated, "So exactly how long _are_ you going to keep this up?"

"How long do you think I can milk it for?"

It was growing harder and harder for both girls to bite back a smile. "At least a week," said Katara thoughtfully. "Probably more, if you're good about it."

Toph leaned back against the sofa arm, rubbing the ice absently across her ex-wound. "You know, Katara," she said finally, "you're pretty damn cool sometimes."

Katara—who was far more pleased with the comment than she necessarily cared to let on—turned away reflexively to hide the grin.

* * *

**Published **_**five**_** minutes before midnight. I'm learning ^_^ This is dedicated to my mom, who had the greatest Avatar insight of all time. My sister was trying to explain the Avatar universe and bending, and my mom asked, "So what does this Sokka boy bend?" **

**My sister replied promptly that, no, he actually fights with a boomerang. My mom paused for a moment, and then asked, "Aren't those… already bent?"**

**Win. Just… win.**

**Reviews are always awesome! (Read: feed me MOAR…)**


	36. Partners

**#34. Partner(s)**

**Prompt = invisible—_like the ninjas are._**

**Because I really didn't want to drabble about how Toph feels 'invisible' to Sokka, esp. when Suki's around—emo poetry ain't a hobby of mine so far, and it's not about to become one—so I thought I'd get creative. So this is the drabble in which a jailbreak occurs. And it's awesome. And Sokka and Toph are quite a lot **_**less **_**invisible than they could stand to be.**

**Post-Day of the Black Sun, for the record.  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

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_Tokka Week Prompt #5__: Invisible_

It happened so fast: one moment they were flying, and the next heat erupted along Appa's side. The firebenders had recovered fully from the eclipse, and were not only able but eager to ignite anything they could lay waste to—particularly Team Avatar and co. The air bison gave a roar that shook the world—literally, for Toph's world was only ever what she could see, and all she could see was the hazy outlines of Appa and her friends—and veered sideways, spiraling downward in a sickening lurch.

Toph screamed, and wasn't the only one. Her hands already firmly entwined in Appa's long, surprisingly downy hair, she didn't slip suddenly to the tilting side like most of her friends, but her arms were nearly yanked from their sockets as another blast of flame landed a direct hit on Appa's stomach, shaking her loose. The momentum carried them forward for a moment, and then, nothing keeping them airborne any longer, they began to arc into a fall.

Dangling off of Appa, who was now nearly upside down, she scrabbled for a handhold on the saddle, one hand slipping from his hair. Shrieks came from below her, trailing off, and she realized numbly that some of their friends were falling. She couldn't see, could hardly hear over the scream of wind in her ears, and so couldn't even tell who it was, or how many of them were left safe. Someone snatched at her leg, a rough hand locking around her ankle for a moment, and her hands slipped another inch. In a fit of panic, she cried out, wriggling, and the hand was knocked away. A moment later, Toph realized with horror exactly what she'd done.

Appa was rolling slowly, the air tugging him right-side-up again, and as he straightened she hugged the saddle, spread-eagled across it. With all the air and heat and awful smell of burning hair and flesh, she couldn't concentrate even to see if anyone else had made it. Was she the only one? Worse—an eternity seemed to have passed, all in the fragment of a second since the second hit, and surely it couldn't be long until they hit the ground…?

"Come _on!_"

She yelped as a pair of strong arms locked around her, yanking her from her tried and true handholds. "We're gonna—" she heard, and then "—got to… now!"

As he spoke he jerked her, struggling, up to her knees. "What?" she demanded, and then he stood sharply, dragging her with him, and jumped.

She screamed as they plummeted like rocks, his arms lashed around her as tightly as steel ropes. They were in the air for one moment, two—it was like miscounting the number of stairs, feeling the sickening lurch of your foot falling through midair. "Brace yourself," he called, lips just beside her ear.

They hit the water hard, her feet sending a blinding explosion of sensation crashing through her as she hit the waves. The cold was knifing, knocking the breath out of her, and she gasped, choking on a mouth of seawater. She tried to cough, but ice was filling her lungs, and everything was going warped and dizzy. The last thing she felt was the same, strong arm wrapping firmly around her waist again and, unable to hold out any longer, she let her eyes fall shut.

* * *

"We did not _ask_ you to save us, and we did not _want_ you to frigging save us—"

"Look, all I want is to help—"

"Oh, _right_," drawled… Sokka, Toph realized faintly, his voice bitingly sarcastic. "Of course. Because you're just so freaking _helpful_—you know, like when you _help_ your sister try to kill us all!"

"I've changed," said the second person, his voice low and rough and helpless. "I saved you, didn't I? I didn't have to do that!"

"It's a ploy," said Sokka fiercely. "A ploy, Zuko, and don't think we're falling for it. You can run home to your castle now."

_Zuko!_ Toph's forehead creased with concentration, the conversation taking on a whole new level of interest. She trained her vision carefully to the boy's heartbeat, relishing _sight _again. "I jumped in to save you!" Zuko spat. "You're not valuable to the Fire Nation; Ozai would—"

"Ozai? You mean you don't just call him Daddy?"

"_Ozai_," Zuko repeated deliberately, forging ahead, "would be happy to see you dead, and you might well be right now if I hadn't saved you. The earthbender, anyway."

"I _had_ her without your—"

"I jumped in," interrupted the prince. "You wouldn't both have got to shore without me. Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but how did you propose to warm up without _my_ fire?"

There was the familiar sound of Sokka opening his mouth and then slowly closing it again, but Toph ignored that in favor of something far more interesting. Zuko's heart had leapt in offense, in anger, but that was a different feeling entirely from reading the pulse of a liar. He was telling the truth.

"Stop, Sokka," she said weakly.

Both boys started closer, but Sokka's head snapped towards Zuko, presumably shooting him a _look_, and the firebender stopped in place. Sokka bent down quickly beside her, helping her sit up. Her throat was horribly raw, but aside from slightly sore feet, she seemed to be in working order. "What did you say?" Sokka asked dubiously.

"I said, stop," she repeated. "Sparky over there's telling the truth."

He recoiled, heart stuttering in shock, but she nodded, attempting her own _look_. "He's a way worse liar than Azula," she explained. "He's for real. Honestly."

Sokka's gaze swiveled towards Zuko, and then he bent slightly closer. "Look, Toph," he whispered, "I know you're good at this, but you might be a little shaken from the crash—"

"I _know what I felt_," she said. "And I trust him. Plus, if you followed us," she added to Zuko, "you must know what's going on, right?"

Tentatively, he nodded. "The guards shot you down," he said, "and several of your friends fell in the water. I was trying to stay near the bison, and you two were the last to fall. The others… the guards were heading out after them," he admitted. "They're prisoners by now, if they weren't already."

Toph grimaced. "So… what?"

"They'll be being held prisoner in the tunnels under the city," Zuko replied. "If you want to save them, you'll have to work fast. They'll be shipped off to the Boiling Rock before too long—although I expect Ozai'll keep the Avatar... I mean, Aang," he corrected. "Your best chance to rescue them is probably… tonight." He stopped, and gave Toph a once-over. "You're okay to fight, aren't you?"

She grinned in response, pounding her fist against her hand.

Sokka, who had stayed sullenly quiet throughout the explanation, finally glanced up. "So?" he said. "What now, your majesty? Let me guess—you want to _help_?"

Zuko hesitated. "I don't know what I can do," he answered. "I confronted Ozai—I'm a traitor now; they'll kill me if I go into the city."

"Join the club," muttered Toph.

He flushed slightly. "I can try and make a diversion," he offered. "Buy you two some time. And I can lead you to the tunnels."

"All _right_," said Toph enthusiastically. "Infiltration!" She paused, scrutinizing Sokka, who still looked sulky. "You know what we need, right, Ponytail?"

"Armor to save us from the _knife in our back_?" he growled, eyeing Zuko.

"No," she said brightly, eyes gleaming as she rubbed her small hands together menacingly. "_Disguises_."

Zuko's eyes widened nervously, and finally, Sokka grinned.

* * *

Sokka took a deep breath in, grinned, and then lunged, slicing apart an imaginary enemy in a flurry of movement. "These," he said, grudgingly appreciative, "are _nice_ swords."

"Uh-huh," Zuko muttered distractedly, with a longing look towards his broadswords. "Just… be careful with them, okay?"

"Careful?" Toph echoed, her voice sounding strange from behind the mask. "Ha. We know not the word, Sparky."

Zuko looked torn between a smile at the nickname or grimace at her words. "Try not to kill anyone?" he said hopefully. "_Please?_"

"Mm-hm." Sokka slipped on the helmet he'd been given, his voice turning suddenly tinny. "We'll do our best."

He sounded highly unconvincing, and Zuko slumped in defeat. "Fine," he said. "Look, the tunnels are right below here—they start after about a hundred yards. Do you think you can…"

"Find it?" Toph paused, hacking in the back of her throat, and then spat on her hands, clapping them together. Zuko visibly tried not to flinch at the motion, and Sokka smirked. "Don't worry about us, Sparky. Just do your thing."

He nodded. "Good luck, you two. When you see your friends, can you…?"

"Tell 'em?" Toph paused. "We'll see. Better hope to Spirits there ain't an ambush for us, or there's not gonna be anything _good _we'll have to say."

Zuko sighed. "Just go," he said. "Before someone hears you arguing." He cut her off from responding, conjuring a swipe of flame with a wave of his arm. "Go," he instructed. "_Now!_"

She stomped her foot, and a tunnel appeared in front of them, no more than a yard wide. It was less of a tunnel, really, and more of a crawl space, but with the pipes and crap the Fire Nation kept all over their city, it was the best they could manage. Adjusting the mask and rolling back the sleeves of the disguise again—fitted and pitch black, she'd been told, but all she knew was that Zuko was _ridiculously_ long-limbed—and dove, feet-first, into her crawl space. Sokka followed suit a moment later, landing gracelessly on top of her. She yelped and then kicked out, extending the tunnel several meters. "Follow," she instructed, and, by the golden, flickering firelight of Zuko's distraction above, Sokka did.

* * *

Chains were bad initially, but by the time you'd been hanging from them for a few hours—particularly if you'd woken up like that—they _really_ sucked.

Such was the discovery of Katara, Teo, the Duke, and Haru, who had been chained hand and foot for the last several-hours-and-then-some. Holding your arms up in the air for a single hour was painful; by this time, they'd lost all feeling in their hands. For Teo, who was now officially out of usable limbs, this was generally awful, but it was no better for any of them. Katara spared all her friends a glance, and then dropped her head back to her chest, feeling the heavy weight of guilt across her shoulders. They were here because of her plan, hers and Aang's and Sokka's and Toph's plan that had gone so completely and utterly wrong. No one had entered their cell for the past several hours, but the last guard who'd come had been very clear that no matter how bad this was, the next place they went to—a Bubbling Rock?—was only going to be worse.

They'd messed up this time, badly, _really_ badly—and there was still no sign of Toph or Sokka, just two sets of empty chains across from her. Who knew if they'd even survived the crash—Toph couldn't even _swim_, and there'd been no one to heal them…

And goddamnit, she was _so_ not going to die before she had a talk with Aang about kissing and the concept of _timing._ She couldn't even get to share a cell with him! No doubt he wouldn't be in this Steamy Rock, or whatever it was called. _In fact_, she realized abruptly, _I'll probably never see him again._

Considering the total indignity of the pre-battle sneak attack kiss, the thought hurt more than it should.

And Toph and Sokka were still missing, presumed _dead_—

"Hey, Katara."

She shrieked and staggered back—to be fair, not very far—as the all-too-familiar masked face of a Fire Nation soldier danged down in front of her, upside down. It was speaking with the wrong voice. Drawing on a final reserve of sarcasm, she observed that this seemed like either a very good or very, _very_ bad time to start hallucinating.

Suddenly, the soldier came crashing down to the ground with a clatter of armor and strangled yell. Lifting her gaze, as the other three had, to the ceiling, she focused on a small hole in the center of the room. As she watched, a new figure clad in skintight black and an eerily grinning blue mask dropped down behind him, landing silently on the balls of their feet. The soldier picked himself up, shooting his companion a glare, and then turned to the other four.

"Did somebody call for a rescue party?"

"Sokka!" she exclaimed, and he yanked off the helmet. Beside him, Toph pulled up the mask, grinning widely. Katara glanced up to the hole and found Aang grinning down at her, a smear of mud on his cheek. It was at this moment Katara noticed they were all three covered in dirt, as if they'd been crawling a long distance.

"Calm down, Sugarqueen," hissed Toph sharply, slipping back on the mask and grabbing hold of Katara's chains. "And helmet _on_, Snoozles. We're supposed to be going for stealth her—"

Her voice was lost as, with a grinding shriek of metal, the chain snapped, and Katara's arm dropped limply to her side. "Stealth?" echoed Sokka, and Toph shrugged blithely.

"Fifteen more to go," she replied, altogether too happily.

* * *

There were two more to go when the guard patrolled past the door and heard a sound like an automaton's dying scream. Grabbing his keys and scrambling to unlock the door handle, he burst in through the door just as the last of four prisoners was rocketed up into a hole in the ceiling. He stared at the two figures left in the room: another guard, and a terribly familiar figure.

"You—!" he blurted, and at the same time the guard drew twin broadswords, the Blue Spirit raised both hands. Gloves of rock shot out at him, pinning him by shoulder and neck to the wall outside the cell. As the terrified guard watched, the soldier pouted. "Aww," he said sadly, "I wanted to use the swords."

The Blue Spirit paused, and then observed, "I think you're going to get to."

The guard glanced up to see a wave of Fire Nation soldiers pouring towards the room. "Oh, damn it," said the traitor guard happily, and he and the Spirit exchanged a look.

"Diversions time?" asked the Spirit.

The soldier grinned. "Hell, yes."

* * *

It was not, perhaps, quite the stealth mission he had outlined for them, as Zuko would later discover once he finished running from the guards. For one, the Blue Spirit could now apparently earthbend—since it could already firebend, people demanded, was it the Avatar in disguise? But no, it had rescued the Avatar… could there be _two_ Avatars? The bravest even dared suggest… _twin_ Avatars?

Oh, and also, apparently the Spirit now had boobs.

Frankly, Zuko was just glad the Avatar and his friends made it out okay. And maybe now… going to confront them wouldn't be so bad. After all, surely Sokka and Toph would pass on that he'd helped.

Hesitantly, he allowed himself a grin. Maybe—just maybe—he was _finally_ on the right track.

* * *

"Hey, Toph, you never did say where you got the mask."

"Yeah, or that disguise, Sokka."

"Or how you knew where to find us?"

Sokka and Toph both paused.

"…Nowhere special," Sokka replied.

"Yeah," Toph agreed, settling back against the side of Appa's saddle. "We're just good at this kind of stuff."

* * *

**Poor Zuko. My friend, it'll take more than **_**that**_** to win over Toph and Sokka, ninjas extraordinaire. This is post-Swordsmaster episode, BTW, so Sokka really is that good with the swords. Score.  
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**And you know, I say Zuko _kept_ the Spirit mask, because it's awesome. Ditto a Fire Nation uniform (who knows when it'd be useful?) Aaaaand… yes, Toph and Sokka did just keep his stuff. Maybe he'll get it back. Maybe ^_^**

**'Partners'? Read it how you will. Partnering up with Sparky… partners in crime… it's open to interpretation.**

**Reviews are always awesome!**


	37. Hinder

**#28. Hinder**

**For those of you who haven't guessed, Toph doesn't particularly like being put in a tower. In which Toph ruins a perfectly well-meaning rescue attempt, and Sokka isn't sure which one of them really deserves the pity here.**

**Disclaimer: Dont' own A:tLA.  
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_Tokka Week Prompt #6__: Sympathy_

_Surely_, Sokka thought weakly, _there are better ways to find a bride than this._

How the hell was anyone supposed to find a tower in all this forest, anyway? Listen for the singing? Because he wasn't even particularly keen on the idea of a singing wife, to be honest—nothing _against_ a little whistling or whatever, but not all the time. Unfortunately, for any self-respecting princess in a tower, _all the time_ was something like the minimum requirement.

It was a paradox: if she was the kind of princess he'd be perfectly happy with, the kind who didn't belt out her heart 24/7, he'd probably missed her already, and if she was the opera-aria type, he wouldn't want to find her anyway.

With a growing sense of despair, his thoughts drifted to the last few princesses he'd tried. Even excluding the ones who definitely didn't even know what paradox _meant_, the list read, more than anything else, as a string of explosive disasters.

Well. There had been the Northern Water Tribe girl, who'd been perfect—until they both found out she was already engaged, and incidentally, her father was a jackass. And then there had been the warrior princess with the makeup—she'd been perfectly nice, except for (a)_ the makeup_, (b) the fact that she was more ripped than him, and (c) oh, yes—the little detail that she'd decided to run off with her Kyoshi clique and live as warriors, dedicated to the side of good and refusing to bow to the oppression of men. And then there had been the Fire Nation princess, who he still had nightmares about. He wasn't even going to _go_ there.

And that wasn't even getting started on those duchess sisters who liked poetry so much. _Five-seven-five, Sokka, five-seven-five_… surely, nowhere else in the world could you get thrown out of a home for _accidentally abusing haiku form._

Yeesh. Well, if nothing else, he _must _deserve a little sympathy from the spirits for all that.

He paused, glancing behind him. The woods were caught somewhere no longer winter but not quite spring, the strange mid-March moment where everything held its breath, just before the world exploded into color again. In a week this path would be garlanded with green; in a month, completely overgrown; but for now the only trace of the new season about to strike were the delicate green buds on the tips of the finger-like branches, and the tiny plants poking heads up through the carpet of dead leaves.

Well, at least it was better than trying this in winter.

But not much. As the sun ducked abruptly behind the clouds, sloshed cold down onto him like ice water, Sokka pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Damn, maybe it was time just to call it a day…

Then he saw it.

Suddenly, shoving aside a bush, he broke through the last edge of forest, finding himself standing at the fringe of a field. In front of him, just at the crest of a hill, rose a massive tower, entirely wood—just like the villager had said.

_And how did I miss _that_?_

He took off towards it, first at an instinctive run but then slowing cautiously. He didn't want to seem too eager or anything. But he couldn't hear even the faintest hint of an aria, which was too reassuring for words. He had been told this princess was unusual… maybe in a better way than he'd dared imagine.

He took a step closer.

With no warning, a long, thin _something _came flying out of the tower's single window. A moment later, a pale, dark-haired figure appeared behind it.

"Hi," he called.

She seemed to squint at him, but then said nothing, just fiddled with something outside his view. The long, thin thing, some kind of cord, pendulumed slowly beneath her.

"I'm here to rescue you," he added.

She lifted her head again, looking at him for a moment longer this time. "You're a little late," she replied.

He paused a couple yards from the tower's base. "What?"

"I don't need rescuing," she deadpanned. "Thanks but no thanks; sorry about the trip. Points for effort. Try Omashu."

It was all rattled off in a monotone, while she frowned at whatever she was holding. Sokka stared.

"But I… but I'm supposed…"

"Yuh-huh. Well. _I'm_ also supposed to stay here and wait until someone brings me a really big ladder, but if it's all the same to you, I'm freaking bored." She lifted her hands, revealing the other end of the cord, and gave it a sharp tug, before grinning. "Better luck next time."

She took a deep breath, grabbed the edge of the window, and hopped up to stand on the ledge. It was about then that Sokka realized two very significant things. First, was the fact that she really, truly did intend to escape, and second was that the rope looked very far from secure. Sokka had grown up on ships, so he knew ropes and rigging like Katara knew waterbending, and _those_ were neither good ropes—they appeared to be made of shredded ball gowns—nor good knots.

"You're not going to make it."

She ignored him, gripping the rope tightly in two hands. Seeming to reconsider the approach, she sat down carefully on the ledge, her feet dangling off the side. She was wearing a dress the same color as the spring buds, tight-fitted on top and full-skirted on the bottom, and Sokka wondered how she could possibly maneuver—or breathe, for that matter—with it on. Coolly, she wrapped the cord around her waist, and then once round her wrist for good measure.

"I'm not trying to stop you," he insisted. "Really. But your rope doesn't look strong at all. It's going to break."

"The intimidation tactic's not going to work," she replied tartly, and swung off the ledge.

He cringed at the snap and grating rip of the silk being pulled tight, but to his shock, the princess seemed fine. Placing her feet against the wall, she began to rappel down, the rope running easily through her fingers. "Need any… help?" he asked feebly.

"Nah, I'm good."

She was about halfway down when he heard it—the faint and unmistakable sound of tearing fabric. "Hurry!" he shouted, and she began to move faster, slipping a few feet as she lost her grip on the rope for a moment. He watched, barely daring to breath, as she scrambled down. She grabbed the next segment of silk…

…And it tore away in her hand.

She yelped, snatching at the previous length, and only just managed to get her free hand onto it before the torn piece of silk unraveled and dropped below her, floating to earth like a twisting, living rainbow. She swung wildly at the end of her rope, feet slipping madly as she tried to replant them on the tower. She reached up higher on the rope, trying to climb back up, but there came an ominous tearing sound from above her, and she went rigid, dangling from the end of the rope.

Below her, Sokka glanced up, looking mildly interested.

"Need any help?"

"I've _got _it!" she snapped, wriggling as if trying to run in midair.

"So if I said, I told yo—"

"I told you so has a brother," she interrupted, her voice broken every other moment by a grunt of effort. "His name is _shut the hell up_."

It didn't escape Sokka's notice that as she struggled to remain impossibly still, her arms were quivering. He almost wanted to call a truce out loud, to ask her if she could give up on the point she wanted to prove and let him help, but she'd already made it clear she wouldn't accept it if he did offer. Besides, considering many times she'd shot him down in the last few minutes, he owed her no sympathy.

Although… he _could_ possibly return the favor.

There was a pause. The princess swore quietly.

"Having fun there?" he inquired conversationally.

"It's freaking delightful," she growled, voice oozing venom. "Why don't you come try it?"

Her arms weren't just trembling; they were shaking, violently. "Well," she said loudly, "I guess there are worse ways to die."

No drop from that height could kill her—unless she could manage to land on her head somehow—but she would break something landing on this ground. Still, he refused to give her the satisfaction of him answering. She reached up again, flinching at the snarl of breaking fabric, and then demanded, "What are you waiting for, jackass? Help me!"

"Magic word?"

"Oh, for Spirits' sake… how about _before I fall_—?"

Maybe it was saying it out loud; maybe the Spirits resented her abuse of their name. Just as she spat the last word, her hand slipped from the silk, and before she seemed to know what was happening, she was falling, a scream trailing behind her and the silk cord swinging innocently above. Instinct immediately overriding the resentment, Sokka lunged forward, arms outstretched to catch her. An instant later she landed, flailing madly, on top of him.

It hurt.

_A lot_.

Sokka lay very still, trying not to move lest every bone in his body be shattered. Calmly, the princess picked herself up. Now he saw her up close—he deemed it safe to move his eyes—she looked distinctly regal: something in the set of her chin, and the way she held herself, a swagger that was at the same time composed, dignified. "Well," she said, "that wasn't too bad."

Sokka was about to say something, but a moment later her face lit up before he could speak. She broke into the widest grin Sokka had ever seen, as though her face had been torn open to reveal a diamond mine, and before he could comment, she whirled to face the tower and jerked her hands sharply apart, stomping her foot.

The ground inches from Sokka split open, revealing a chasm that seemed to descend into the heart of the earth. With a great, splintering crash, the tower tumbled down into the gorge, swallowed whole by the blackness. The princess snapped her fists together, and the mouth of the ravine snapped shut like closing lips, a time-lapse wound healing from a gash to a scar to smooth new skin again. Sokka's jaw dropped.

"Damn," said the princess happily, "that feels good."

She set off down the hill. Sokka pulling himself weakly to his knees, stared in disbelief. "You're a bender?" he called.

She turned around, halfway down the path. "And you're a genius, I suppose." She shook her head pityingly. "Hence the tower. Wood. I haven't done that for a year." After a thoughtful pause, she mused, "Though I'm still damn good at it."

He stood carefully, taking a cautious step towards her. His back ached where she had landed on him, but nothing seemed broken. "You know," he said, "I think technically I just rescued you."

She arched an eyebrow. It was an expression that an accompanying retort wouldn't have done justice to.

"I saved you," he persisted. "From life-or-death peril. Do I get any credit for that?"

She eyed him, head tilted, and then sighed heavily. "Look," she said, "you seem nice and all, and I appreciate you breaking my fall, but I'm not really the kind of person I think you're looking for." She paused, seeming aware it was a feeble response, and then inquired, "Do you know why I was in the tower?"

He hesitated. "Help you find a husband?"

"Ha." She snorted. "Mine is a bitter laugh. Ponytail"—here, he reached self-consciously for his hair, and she gave a catlike grin—"I'm in the freaking tower because I ran away and scammed a bunch of idiots for gold. And then sort of became an outlaw. Dad wasn't so happy," she finished, rolling her eyes.

For a moment, Sokka was stuck on the motion: they were pretty eyes; he hadn't realized before: jade and grey simultaneously—a soft, misty color, but sharp with vivid intelligence. Quickly, however, as they narrowed at him, he snapped to. "That sucks," he agreed sincerly, trudging down to where she stood. "But that still doesn't make you the worst princess I've met."

She stared him down, smirking. "Too bad," she countered. "I'll just have to try harder, won't I?"

Grin widening, she reached over, punching him in the arm. He yelped, and she snickered, making no effort to hide her entertainment, before setting off downhill. If she noticed her dress dragging through the mud, she didn't seem to care. "Hey!" he called after her. "Princess?"

"Not 'princess'," she corrected over he shoulder. "Toph, Ponytail. Just Toph."

"Fine. Toph," he amended. "Do you sing?"

He heard a burst of laughter from further down the path, where she was weaving out of sight between the tall grass. "Like _hell_."

Laughing himself, Sokka hurried after to catch up before he could lose sight of her—something that, for an inexplicable reason, he couldn't stand to do. It might have been a hell of an unusual rescue, but success or no, he might just have gotten the right kind of princess out of it anyway.

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**And did you _think_ she would be good at sitting in a tower? Hah. Just... hah. _As if_. Sokka's princess fails (at the start) are Yue, Suki, Azula (o_O), and those girls at the school of poetry in 'Tales of Ba Sing Se'. **

**Reviews are always wonderful-one more day in Tokka Week, so all your support is amazing! ^_^  
**


	38. Time

**#1. Time**

**Well, damn—this Tokka Week prompt seems **_**awfully**_** familiar (I'm citing chapter 16, for everyone who's new to the game.) Here's a slightly different take this time, then.

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_Tokka Week Prompt #7__: Legacy_

Few people in the four kingdoms left such a legacy behind as Sokka Hadoka and Toph Bei Fong.

Separately, they were well enough. Alone Toph was the legend of Earth Rumble, the bender all others aspired to be. Alone she was the Bei Fong that wasn't so much of a Bei Fong as the world knew them; she was the fearless champion who'd helped bring the Fire Nation fearlessly to its knees; she was the Runaway and had achieved outlaw status by age thirteen. She cursed like a sailor and drank like one too, and she was the greatest diplomat the Earth Kingdom could have had through her utter refusal to utilize diplomacy.

Alone Sokka was a heartbreaker who'd been the true love of the moon spirit, a boy who'd helped plan the invasion of the Fire Nation at only age sixteen and later became the Water Tribe's beloved chief and foremost tactician. He was the teenager who was startlingly good at poetry but not so skilled at syllable-counting, the hunter who could bring down a mooselion from three hundred paces with nothing but a boomerang. He was a swordsman who grew to outmatch even his master, and without him perhaps the war would never have been won.

It was a well-known fact that the Earth Nation and Water Nation would each talk of Toph and Sokka, respectively, for generations to come.

But together, their legacy was something else entirely.

They left it buzzing on the tongues of storytellers through the ages, regardless of nation. It stung in scars on their enemies and echoed in deeper marks on their friends. Their legacy together was carved in chipped mail chutes in Omashu and the skeleton hulls of the Fire Nation air fleet, still rusting just off the Earth Kingdom's coast.

They left it on Ember Island, the ghost memory of two entwined names still a soft whisper in the sand even after the waves brushed it away, and they left it in the Jade Dragon teashop and the ruptured cracks on its balcony (_don't ask_.) They were remembered as indestructible, infallible, the greatest warriors ever to fight together.

They were also remembered as the two geniuses who rigged the cake at the third War's End Ball to explode as the Fire Lord and Avatar jointly lit the ceremonial candles. This is not to say anything was every proven—it wasn't—but they were remembered for it by everyone, _especially_ the Fire Lord and the Avatar.

They left their memory scrawled in the young and vivid minds of everybody else's children as well as their own. "So then," Katara and Aang's little boy Enkai loved to say, gesticulating wildly as he narrated, "Uncle Sokka was like, 'I've got you, Toph, and I'm never gonna let you go,' and she was all, 'Okay, now let's go kill 'em!' an' then he threw his boomerang and knocked out, like, fifty firebenders—"

"And Toph bended the airship in half," their daughter Yora—spitting image of her mother—would chime in eagerly, "and then, like, threw it in the water, like, BAM—!"

"_Yeah!_" Enkai would agree, eyes alight with glee. "And then they totally kicked the Fire Lord's as—'"

"_Enkai_!"

"Sorry, mom, _butt_."

"Also," Aang would throw in, glancing sideways at Toph and Sokka, "I think that was me who fought Ozai, wasn't it?"

Toph would shrug innocently. "Kids," she'd reply knowingly—not that she would know yet, but that had never stopped her—and Sokka would throw in a solemn nod.

"_And then_," Enkai would leap in, determined not to be ignored, "they jumped on Appa and teleported to the Fire Nation and totally beat up Uncle Zuko's crazy sister…"

So in such a way the pair left traces of themselves across the Four Nations: his footprints and the trail of a beautiful white dress on the snowy ground of the South Poles, a number of bottles that disappeared inexplicably from the Fire Nation wine cellar, and even a few distinctive—and not altogether innocent—renovations to the Air Temples, not to mention a lasting influence on the boy who had once been the only airbender left. They were wanted posters and broken vases and stolen disguises. They were small letters bent into the great Wall of Ba Sing Se, painstakingly copied by a blind girl from scratches in the dirt by her feet—he'd written it out carefully with the edge of his boomerang. _Sokka and Toph_, the writing said. Just that.

They left remnants to show they had been there once, determined not only not to disappear but also to be captured as they were. History's ancient hands have a way of smoothing lines and blurring edges, but Sokka was not Sokka the tactician, nor Toph, Toph the fighter; they were Toph and Sokka, best friends and occasional cellmates, and knew being remembered as anything but themselves wasn't being remembered at all.

And when at last the living part of their legacy came to a close and he passed away in his sleep, she held on for another year before crossing to join him when the spirits called her to. The funeral glowed with the presence of hundreds in the falling dusk of a summer night. Present were both the Fire Lord and the Avatar, and both cried and tried to pretend they hadn't. The Avatar led the Dai Li—reformed and occasionally trained by who else than her?—to bury the casket, outside the Fire Nation palace to remind her what she'd helped win. The grave was near that of a Kyoshi warrior but directly beside Sokka's.

A couple days later, the Avatar—an old man now—and his wife made their way to the wall of Ba Sing Se on an air bison as old as both of them. They touched down just at the inner wall, and the man walked over, placing his hand just below the faded script he'd been looking for. _Sokka and Toph_, he recarved, precisely as a teenaged Blind Bandit had originally done, and then added, _forever_.

Some legacies fade.

This one wouldn't.

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**Ending on an introspective note. Ain't that what everyone does? Oh, come on. **_**Yes.**_** Of course it is ^_^ **

**Oh, before I forget: (1) I basically made up a rule that in the Water Tribe, you inherit your father's last name. Hence, Katara and Sokka Hadoka, etc. And (2) there's no hidden meaning in "Uncle Zuko". He's just called that 'cause the Gaang all consider each other family (feel free to **_**aww**_**…)**

**So... the really important part. You guys have been awesome with the encouragement this week. Yeah, Tokka Week's a little more than I entirely bargained for, but you've all made it worth it. Another thanks to Fagan for the heads-up! And reviews are always, always appreciated—good to know you're all still with me ;)**


	39. Façade

**#61. Façade**

**In honor of Astoria Goode, who prompted this college-age modern-world AU-ness (on that note, Toph's _not _blind here)—and who I eternally owe for introducing me to STEAM. Also for my Twi-hard sister, who let me bounce ideas off her until this came to be, and who *sigh* is the real genius behind 'aangsty'.**

**Okay, and it's not Taang. No. I swear. I mean, I considered trying that out (*covers face* Not seriously! Never seriously! Please, I didn't mean it, Tokka's the only one!) but no. I promise.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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It was no coincidence that no sooner had Katara and Zuko _officially_ become an item than the MiniMart right off campus ran out of chocolate chip cookies.

The skinny, pale boy, lean but not quite big enough to be called tall, had dumped the armful of boxes on the counter, oblivious to the skeptical stares of the cashiers. He didn't look like he had anywhere to _put _the cookies, let alone the upper body strength to heft this amount of them home. What they didn't quite notice was the look on the boy's face, the war of frustration and envy and bitter hurt that blazed in his eyes. These cookies weren't food. There was a fire inside him, and he needed fuel for it—perverse enjoyment caused him to want it burning higher, and reason threw in that the higher it blazed, the sooner it might collapse into ash.

And mostly, cookies were comfort food.

So once this happened, neither was it coincidence that a couple worryingly cheerful-bald-vegan-free days later, Toph Bei Fong received a phone call from a very concerned roommate.

She showed up at the apartment two hours later, where Sokka let her in and offered her a Coke before sitting down at the kitchen table to discuss 'the situation'. Throughout the conversation, he shot wary glances towards the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall, as if it held something radioactive or possibly explosive. In retrospect, it should have warned her.

But despite everything Sokka told her, it wasn't until she stood up and tramped down the hall to Aang's closed door that she realized some _bad_ shit was going on in there.

It wasn't the flickering light of the TV shimmering along the crack under the door, with the kind of brightness that only came from it being the only light in the room. It wasn't the way Sokka hovered back in the kitchen, afraid to follow. It wasn't even the small sniffles emanating from inside the room.

No, it was the voices.

She whistled softly. "Jesus, he's upset."

"Actually," said Sokka helpfully, "I think he's a little aangsty."

"You suck," she replied, aiming a virtual punch back at him—she couldn't be bothered to actually go hit him. Bracing herself for the very worst—and with _her_ imagination, this was a pretty terrifying image—she opened the door.

Her friend was curled up on his couch around a half-eaten packet of Chips Ahoy. Several more littered the floor, along with a couple empty Ben and Jerry's bags. He was pale and sick-looking, his eyes wide in his face and slightly bloodshot. Even when Sokka broke up with Yue—and Christ, she didn't even want to _go_ there—he wasn't _this_ bad. Eyes wide, she followed Aang's fixed gaze to the TV.

_The pretty brunette gave the boy's hand a squeeze, apparently more for her own sake than his, and drew a deep, shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Noah," she said tremulously, the camera panning across her face as a single, graceful tear slipped down her cheek, "but we just can't be together any more."_

"_But…" The boy blinked as if he couldn't quite process what she'd said, his glasses suddenly huge and humiliatingly conspicuous. "But… what did I do wrong?"_

"_It's not you!" she protested. "It's complicated, Noah! This hasn't been right for a long time, you know that. I just think we need some time apart, to see other people."_

"_Other people?" he demanded icily. His hand stiffened in hers, and he retracted it with suddenly coldness. "So this is about him."_

_It was clear she was lying from the split second's hesitation, the way the word clung to her lips for the barest instant before emerging into the air between them. "No—no!" she disagreed, stronger the second time. "Why do you always have to say that?"_

"_Because it is, Aimee!" Noah barked, slamming a fist against the doorframe with a startling bang. "Goddamn it, it's never been me, has it? You've never really wanted me; it's always been him—but you could have at least had the guts to tell me sooner!" _

_His own eyes were tearing up now, though clearly he seemed embarrassed by it. "You had to let me fall in love with you," he finished, his voice barely audible but audibly broken, as though it had been laid out and stomped on pitilessly by Doc Martens._

It did not escape Toph's notice that Aang's lips moved, almost imperceptibly, in time with the onscreen dumpee.

"_Stop!" Aimee snapped. "Noah, you need to get over yourself. Roland and I love each other—"_

"_Don't you talk to me about Roland!_" Aang exploded, snapping up in his seat so abruptly that Toph jumped. He stabbed a single finger towards the girl onscreen, face alight with a frenzied passion. The next moment, however, the emotion dimmed, his lips pressing tightly together. As his voice dropped, the glow of the TV gleamed off his gray eyes like tears. It might not just have been the light.

"_No," _he murmured, in perfect synchronization with the poor, bespectacled Noah. _"You don't know what love is."_

"_I know it isn't this," retorted Aimee, her voice perfectly, viciously scathing. "Goodbye, Noah."_

_She turned away from his front door, storming down the front walk, her skirt flouncing perfectly with every step. Noah's eyes widened in horror, in terrible realization of the part of his life that had been torn away. "Aimee!" he shouted, clinging to the doorframe for just a split second before throwing caution to the wind, racing after her. "Aimee, please, don't go!"_

_Aimee ignored him until he caught up, grabbing hold of her hand and spinning her around. "I can't lose you," he breathed, staring down at her._

_Aimee blinked once, slowly, at him, makeup-slathered lashes fluttering down and up like butterfly wings. "Noah," she replied dully, "you already have."_

_She turned away, jerking back her hand. Noah, not moving, not even bothering to close his half-parted lips, stared after her, his hand still floating in midair._ "You bitch!" Aang burst out, his voice slightly strangled. Seizing hold of a cookie from the box on his lap, he whipped it at the TV, and it struck the screen just beside Aimee as she opened her car door. "You bitch!" he repeated again, the edge in his voice duller. "You… bitch…"

"Aang," Toph said flatly, over the sound of a muted sob, "as your friend, I am telling you that this is officially the gayest thing you've ever done, and your nickname is _Twinkles_."

He started and then quickly turned off the TV, before his gaze dropped to the floor, not daring to meet her eyes. "Well?" she demanded, after a moment. "Aang, you were _quoting_ it!"

He bit his lip. "I've, um," he mumbled. "I've seen this episode before."

"Dear God, Aang. Sokka's right to be worried," she declared, taking a step into the room. "Any more of these and your dick'll fall off. You need get over her."

Aang stared forlornly at the cookies in his lap, and didn't reply.

"Don't make me do this, Twinkles," she said stiffly, walking over to flop down next to him. "God, it's a breakup, not the end of the world. People come and go. I know you care about her, but—"

"I don't just care about her," he interrupted miserably. "I love her. She just doesn't love me back."

"Well," Toph said truthfully, "she doesn't… _not_ care about you, Aang."

The uselessness and, moreover, irony of what she was saying only hit her after she'd finished, and she didn't blame Aang in the slightest for his pathetic glance up at her. "But she doesn't care like _that_," he mumbled. "She wants him, Toph, not me."

This was striking a very uncomfortably familiar note, and that might have been what did it at last. Toph was renowned for her apathy, her utter nonchalance in the face of drama—or even aangst—but this was something else. You didn't listen to people spit out the crap you'd been thinking to yourself for years and not say a thing. Somewhere inside her, the look on his face drove him, and she felt herself soften inexplicably.

"I know," she agreed quietly. "Aang, I'm sure she'll come around. Sometimes you've just got to be patient with people."

He eyed her suddenly. "How do you know?"

"Because... I do," she shrugged, cautiously discreet. "I've liked people who I knew didn't like me back. All I'm saying is that sometimes another door opens, Twinkles. It can just take people a little while to see what's in front of them."

She didn't get quite the reaction she'd expected.

Aang, reaching for another cookie—she didn't say anything; who was she to deny him that?—had stiffened abruptly, eyes bulging. Slowly his head swiveled around to face her, his face frozen in disbelief. "Oh my God," he blurted. "You don't… I mean, you're not…?"

Nervously, she frowned. "What?"

"You don't… mean… you like… _me_?"

Silence.

"Oh, Christ, no!" she exploded, jaw dropping. "God, no, no, no, that wasn't what I meant at all—"

"Because if you do, I mean, that's okay, but I really just like as—"

"It's _not_ you," she repeated. "Aang. No."

All the breath came out of him in a whoosh. "Oh, thank God," he whispered, and then caught her sudden scowl. "Not like that! There's nothing _wrong_ with you, I've just got all this, and I couldn't deal with it, and—"

To his deep relief, she smirked. "Twinkles," she said, "it's called messing with you. Messing with your _friends_."

He grinned weakly at the word. "Okay," he answered. "Good. Friends."

"Friends."

There was a pause.

"Who is it, though?"

She caught her breath, the sympathy urging her on and all reason yanking her back. Frankly, she trusted Aang completely not to tell, more than maybe anyone save Zuko, but she didn't tell, that was just the thing. And especially, she didn't want to say it, because he and Aang were such good frie—

"Guys?"

Both heads snapped towards the open door, two sets of eyes fixing on Sokka. He waved nervously. "Hey," he said, taking a step into the room that seemed to be like wading against a riptide of awkwardness and then retreating again, jamming fists into his pockets. "Aang. Man. How are you?"

"Sokka," said Toph coolly, "girl talk is happening. You're not obligated."

He looked secretly relieved, but tried to shrug it off. "Oh. Well. If you don't need me… look," he explained, "I'm going to go pick Suki up. We're going out tonight. You guys are okay here, right?"

It took Toph just a moment to reply. "Yeah," she replied. "Yeah. Peachy."

He grinned, finally reassured enough to enter the room and saunter over. "Great. Hang in there," he shot towards Aang, and then threaded his arms under Toph's and around her waist, grabbing her in a hug from behind. "Thanks," he whispered in her ear, and then louder, "Love ya, Toph," as he pulled away, ruffling her hair. "You gonna be here late?"

"See how I go," she called as he turned for the door. "Have fun with Ninja-Girl."

"Bye," he called, and then he was gone, and the bedroom door groaned shut behind him. They both stayed perfectly still until the front door slammed, and then Toph grabbed hold of her sneaker, tugging it off her foot and hurling it at the door after him.

"'Love you, Toph?'_" _she echoed, voice dripping a lethal mix of disbelief and venom. "Right, Sokka, it's just _peachy_—absolutely, freaking _peachy_!"

Aang watched, some self-pity draining from his face. "Oh," he murmured, after a moment.

The syllable seemed to break a spell; Toph slumped back into her seat, face dimming. "Yeah," she muttered, staring up at the ceiling. "_Oh._"

"He… he really does care about you."

She raised an eyebrow, looking somehow martyred and still snarky at the same time. "Déjà vu much, Twinkles?"

"Right." He dropped his gaze, and for a moment a painful quiet filled the air—not painful in its awkwardness, but made so by the perfect understanding at that moment on both sides, the shared, heartbreaking burden of aloneness. The hurt they could almost feel was both his and hers, one and the same for all purposes; it felt all at once outside and within both of them, the kind of internal wound that no amount of bandages could fix. For an elongated moment, the air was too full for any words.

"Well?" she said finally. "What are you waiting for?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

Sighing, Toph rolled her eyes. "Put the damn soap opera back on, Aang."

He clicked a button on the remote, and the TV flickered to life again. The bald boy paused, shooting his worn-looking friend at the other end of the couch a glance, and then asked, "Cookie?"

At last, Toph grinned. It was a tired grin, patched and frayed, but a grin nonetheless. The loneliness was by no means gone, and they knew there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it, but they were together, and if nothing else, that had to count for something.

"Hell, yes," she replied, and Aang smiled the same smile back and passed her the box.

* * *

**What _is it_ about those Water Tribe types? Yeesh. Anyway, OOC? Sorta. But come on: Aang does not take it like a man. I love him—let it never be said that I don't—but he just doesn't take it like a man. For those of you wondering, I did in fact picture the scene at the start of 'Legally Blonde' where the jerk lawyer just broke up with Elle? And did I just liken her to Aang? Why, yes. Yes I did.**

**...Poor Twinkles.  
**

**Reviews are always appreciated!  
**


	40. Control

**#58. Control**

**So. A couple chapters ago (or sumthin') I posed the question as to how many Zutara fans there are reading, and got some interesting answers. Mostly, it seems, the non-fans are **_**extreme**_** non-fans—am I surprised? Not really—but the actual shippers mostly said, "MOAR Zutara plz… you can even bash Katara if you want; just have it there." (I'm paraphrasing. You're much more eloquent than that ^_^)**

**So all I can say, really, is that you asked for this. Duck and cover, Zutarians. Aang's learned what a backbone is.**

**Oh, right. This is ****PART 1 OF 4****. **significant pause** FORGET IT NOT. Good.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA or**_** the STEAM…

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**_

When the Avatar threw a hissy-fit, it was kind of hard not to pay attention.

Sokka awoke very suddenly to sounds he'd say were battle were the war not a couple months over: earthquaking explosions that shook the ground and sent him jarring half an inch into the air with every crash. He scrunched up his face at the disturbance, tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but he was getting whiplash, and it was kind of obnoxious. Spirits, couldn't even be six in the morning, but half the Gaang wasn't even here, and Aang had already snapped. Some vacation this had turned out to be. Spirits, was _one_ quiet weekend away at Ember Island too much to ask for?

Well, apparently. So he wriggled out of his nice warm sleeping bag and into the not-at-all-nice sunlight, rubbing at bleary eyes as he dared poke his head out from under the covers. Aang was little way away near the waterfall, flinging boulder after boulder at the side of the cliffs as if hoping to provoke himself a landslide.

Next to Sokka, Toph smacked her lips and frowned lightly without opening her eyes. "Sloppy technique," she muttered drowsily, and then rolled over, pulling the quilt tighter around herself.

"Toph!" he hissed, poking her in the side. She groaned loudly and retreated further into her sleeping bag. "_Toph!_"

"_Nooo_," she mumbled. "Quiet now. Sleeping."

"Toph, we should go talk to Aang."

"Nuh-uh."

"The sun'll be up in a few minutes anyway," he pointed out, trying to convince himself more than her, and Toph's forehead creased instantaneously, like a ripple across a pool of water.

"And this affects me… _how_?"

"Just _come?_" he pled, abandoning tact. "I'm not good at talking to people about, you know… stuff."

"Stuff like, how your sister's totally playing tonsil hockey with Sparky right about now?"

With pleasure, she watched Sokka's jaw grit. He clenched his fist, fighting the sudden urge to punch something. "Just think," Toph continued leisurely, "what they might do with the whole entire Fire Nation Palace to themselves…"

"Nothing," said Sokka stolidly. "_Nothing at all_."

"'Oh, Zuko'," said Toph loudly, her voice abruptly soprano and singsong, "'it's such a beautiful day for a little friendly sparring. Perhaps you should take your shirt off so that I won't get it wet…'"

"_Toph_…"

Her voice plunged into a husky, rough baritone that was, unfortunately, an almost impeccable Zuko. "'Oh, Katara, you're so beautiful when you're trying to kill me!' 'Oh, Zuko, you're so good at bending, I wonder what else your _hands _are good at?'"

She was visible only as a slight bulge, swollen with blankets that had been cocooned around her like cobwebs around a fly—apparently, from the way she refused to leave them, just as adhesive—and with her back to Sokka, she knew he couldn't see her catlike grin. His heart was pounding like hootbeats with fury. "Hey," she said conversationally, "you know what you get when you combine fire and water? _Steam_. That's kind of ironic, isn't i—"

"_Don't_," he interrupted through teeth so tightly clamped together, she was amazed they hadn't shattered under the pressure. "Do not even go there, Toph. Steam, and… oh, that's just so wrong—you know what?" he added suddenly. "It's not true at all. Iroh's going to be there to… to watch…"

He trailed weakly off, the sentence collapsing in on itself before it could even reach a conclusion. "I'm screwed," he said weakly.

"Sucks for you," she replied, shrugging—at least, he thought it was a shrug; all he could make out was the lump of blankets twitching slightly. "But there's no way in hell we can head back there with Twinkles having a breakdown, so since I can't do anything, I think I'm just going to go back to slee…"

Approximately thirty seconds later, Aang looked up to see Sokka tramping towards him with all the inescapability of a Fire Nation battleship. Toph was slung over his shoulder, sack-of-potatoes style, dragging her sleeping bag stubbornly behind him in the dust. The Avatar glanced up as they came, slamming a boulder especially violently against the cliff. Sokka let Toph down gingerly, and she dropped the sleeping bag the moment her feet touched the ground, folding her arms in a motion heavy with apathy. "Your form's gone to hell," she observed.

"So?"

Toph whistled, low and mocking. "_Whoo_," she muttered wryly. "Slow down, rebel."

The next boulder slammed so hard against the mountain she couldn't even see for a moment for the tremors, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of flinching. "Having fun?"

"No."

"Well, gosh, Sokka. He's not having fun—our camping weekend's a failure." She turned to her friend, stroking her chin pensively. "Whatever _shall_ we do?"

"Um," said Sokka weakly. "Why aren't you having fun, Aang?"

"She's talking."

That one stung. Toph's fists clenched. Okay, so she was being obnoxious, but that wasn't the point. Aang wasn't supposed to mention it. Aang's name was _Twinkles_! What dignity did he have left, that he thought he was on par to insult her?

Or so went her train of thought, while physically, she suppressed the urge to actually conjure the avalanche Aang had been prodding at, instead twitching her hand and lobbing a fist-sized chunk of rock at his head. It was reasonably satisfying, _until_...

"Ow!" he bellowed, head snapping around, and before either Toph or Sokka knew what was happening, a roar of flame exploded out towards her.

She got her wall up barely in time, and it glanced around a shield of rock, but as she jerked back her hands, the fingers were raw and blistering from being pressed against the now-burning stone. "What the _hell_?" she exploded, snapping them outward and up with a sharp rip of pain as the flesh tightened. A sheath of rock rose to envelop a suddenly pale and stunned-looking Aang up to his chest, pinning his arms, and then she flew at him. Her first punch connected with his jaw, her second his nose, and then Sokka got his arms around her and yanked her away, hissing and arching like an alley cat mid-brawl. Throughout it all, Aang didn't so much as flinch.

"_What the hell_?" she repeated. "Who are you, _Sparky?_"

His eyes flashed, and the rock around him hissed with fractures and shattered into a million pieces. "No!" he barked, face contorting like a gargoyle's. "No, actually, I'm _not_ Zuko, because clearly _he's_ got something that I freaking don't!"

Neither of the two had ever heard him swear before. It was the disturbing equivalent of seeing a teddy bear wielding heavy weaponry. "Aang," Sokka mumbled, "maybe you should calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" growled the Avatar. "It's always 'calm down, Aang! Relax, Aang! You're the _Avatar_, Aang, you're not _supposed_ to be upset anyway!'" He turned away, running his hands across his bare scalp. "You don't know how it feels," he continued fiercely. "Loving someone who doesn't love you back… seeing them _together…_"

"I know," Sokka nodded. "You're right, Aang. Toph and I have never been in that position; we can't know how you feel right now."

Nobody noticed Toph's eye twitch slightly, nor her fists clenching, but she would later recognize it as the moment she realized, one way or another, she wanted to help Aang.

"I don't get it," she said, tilting her head to the side. "What happened with you and Sugarqueen? I thought you guys had been a thing forever."

Aang let out an explosive sigh, sinking to the ground. Toph and, after a moment, Sokka flopped down on either side of him. "She said she was too confused," he explained, the words seeming to cut him up like broken glass as he spoke them. _Yup, she and Sparky seem _real_ confused,_ thought Toph, but bit her tongue. "What we had reminded her too much of the war, and she wanted to put that behind her, and… he has _hair_!" he blurted, startling both of them. "Is that it? Do you think she liked me better when I had hair?"

"I'm pretty sure it's not the hair," said Sokka delicately.

He dropped his head into his hands, muffling his next words. "A month," he muttered. "It's been a month… I thought I could get over her, but… _argh_!" He slammed a fist against the ground. "I don't want to believe I've lost her," he murmured. "I _can't_ lose her."

And no one noticed Sokka's eyes widen, nor his gaze dart to the sky for a white-clothed figure who wouldn't be there. For a moment it was too easy to let Aang and his sister fade, for the words to paint the picture of a white-haired princess and the warrior she'd left behind. He swallowed hard—it hurt like hell to do so—and later would recognize it as the point _he_ knew he had to help Aang—even if it _was_ his sister.

"You haven't lost her," said Toph suddenly. "She just needs some time to come around. You know how she is like that."

"No," Aang snapped. "No, I've _given_ her time. She doesn't want me—you know it, but I thought you'd have the decency to tell me to my _face_!"

His voice rose as he spoke, and Toph face darkened. "Okay, get angry," she retorted. "That's a good idea. Want to burn one of us again; would that help?"

"You don't understand!" He leapt to his feet in a flurry of air. "I've already lost everyone once; now I'm losing her—!"

"Come on, Aang," said Sokka, standing up quickly, but Aang turned away, footsteps quickening as he went.

"Leave me alone," he snapped. His glider was lying on the ground nearby, and he snatched it up as he passed. "I just need some time to… to think…"

His last words were lost as he launched himself into the air. The wings snapped open, and he was off, soaring up towards the smoky clouds.

There was a pause.

"Okay," Toph murmured, a pale finger working gingerly across her new burns on her palms. "Who is that bag o' hormones, and what in the Spirits' names has he done with Twinkles?"

Sokka stared at the patch of sky that had almost swallowed Aang whole in just moments. "_Damn_," he remarked.

"I know," she said wearily. "Even I thought he'd take puberty better than _this_."

But Sokka was too deep in thought to laugh. He inspected the events of the past few minutes carefully, circling them mentally as a cat might do a suspicious new toy, batting at them lightning-fast to see what new facets they might reveal. "Toph," he said finally, "I'm concerned."

"For us?"

"And the rest of the Four Nations, yes."

"Especially the _steam_ nation, right?"

There was the soft sound of Sokka flinching. "Toph," he said again.

"Yes, Sokka?"

"We've got to do something."

"Such as?" She snorted. "Methinks the Talk didn't quite go as planned."

"No," he corrected. He didn't look away from the sea of sky, which the swooping speck that was Aang had all but vanished into, but he did shake his head slightly. "I didn't say we had to _talk _about something. I said we've got to _do_ something."

"Ah."

"Something _drastic_."

Toph paused. "You don't mean…?"

"Oh yes I do."

"Ah." She nodded slowly. "Right."

"I think he'll thank us. In the end."

"In the end," she echoed. "So you don't think we should, you know, actually _tell _him we're screwing with lives and emotions, some of which are his."

"We don't have to. I… uh, I think he'd disapprove."

"_Would_ he?"

A pause. "That's a fair point."

"So if we…" She broke off to cough loudly and pointedly, possibly because she was unaware whether Aang was nearby or not and possibly because she simply enjoyed it too much. "_Instigated civil war in the steam nation_—"

"—That's not getting any less cruel, Toph."

"_If we broke up the steam nation_," she repeated, forging on, "then what it really depends on is Aang's sense of timing, right? Do we trust him to swoop in on Katara when she really needs him? Strike when the iron's hot?"

"…We are still talking about Aang, right?"

"Yeah. That's what I was thinking too."

"So…?"

"So we're going to have to be good, Sokka."

"Good?"

"Better."

"Masterminds?"

"If you like."

His smile widened. "_Criminal _masterminds?"

"…I worry about you."

He chose to ignore the comment. "General Toph," he said, turning towards her and snapping a salute accompanied by a worrying excitement in his face, "the war is begun."

She clapped her hands together—cursing inwardly as soon as she did, because it hurt like hell—and grinned a fearsome grin nonetheless. "Those two," she declared, "aren't gonna know what hit them."

* * *

**To be continued…**

**No, but really. Real details are up top, but this is a four-parter (this being part one). I have absolutely no idea if that's Tokka-100- kosher, but it is fun. So sit back, enjoy, and let the games begin… because we **_**all**_** know how well Toph and Sokka's grand plans work out—and this one goes about as well as the Day of the Black Sun.**

**Oh, before I forget. Maiko or Jinko (Jin = from 'Tales of Ba Sing Se')? 'Tis important.**

**Reviews are always appreciated!  
**


	41. Battle

**#19. Battle**

**... It begins. **

**I have been asked to explain **_**the steam**_**. In short, 'tis supposed to be what you get when you mix fire and water, hence the elemental symbol for Zutara. However, in the immortal words of Astoria Goode, "One person told me, 'When you pour water on fire it creates steam!' or something among those lines. And I'm like, 'No, it just creates a really big mess what with the ashes and the smoke and the charred wood and all…'" **

**I hope you don't mind me using your words—it's just you phrased it so beautifully ^_^ So this is **_**the steam**_**. Word.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

* * *

**

_Part 2 of 4_

"It's like I said before: the basis of this plan," Sokka declared, "is _scandal_."

He spoke as if a stadium-sized crowd was clinging to his every word. In fact, it was only Toph and Ty Lee, sitting in crates in front of him: the former sitting cross-legged in front of him and looking politely disinterested; the latter staring up at him while she swayed slowly, balancing on her hands. The three of them had taken refuge in the wine cellar of the Fire Nation palace to scheme—with the Summer's End Ball fast approaching, it was one of the only quiet places free to stake out.

"Our attack comes in three stages," Sokka continued, glancing down at the scroll in his hand. It had long strings of notes and tactics scrawled across it, a couple sketches of the ballroom, and a diagram of the Aang/Katara/Zuko love triangle. Oh, and a small note in the corner: '_Hiiii cutie! XOXO Ty Lee_'. He was no longer quite sure he should have enlisted _her_ help, but it was a bit late for that. "The first," he explained, looking back up, "is reconnaissance, the second is the direct offensive, and the final stage is the clincher."

"Did you _practice_ this talk?"

"Quiet in front," he said lamely, glaring at Toph. "The purpose of Stage One, as you both know, is to uncover any past scandals of 'Z's… namely of the, erm, _female_ variety."

Toph snorted and Ty Lee giggled loudly, and a flush that started at his neck rose slowly up through Sokka's face. Quickly he looked down at his paper again, if for no reason but to avert his eyes from the two of them. "Stage Two: 'Z' gets caught by 'K' fraternizing—scandalously—with other female persons. And Stage Three—"

There was the ineffable and very conspicuous sound of Toph rolling her eyes. "This better not involve the word _scandalous_, Sokka."

He pressed his lips together, scratching a hurried line through a word on the paper, before looking back up. "It's _Agent Wolf_ to you," he corrected sharply. "And no; of course it doesn't. Stage three: 'Z' catches 'K' and 'A' sharing scandalo—erm, _intimate_ moment during dance. 'A' and 'K' are securely reunited, and 'Z' is no longer associated with 'K', and nor does he desire to be. Mission, complete."

Ty Lee raised a hand to her mouth to whistle-cheer loudly, and Sokka allowed himself a grin before continuing. "_Agent Rose_," he said, raising an eyebrow at her in a manner he considered very debonair, "what's the status of Stage One?"

"It's _good_!" she chirped, flipping abruptly up onto her feet. "I talked to Iroh, and _apparently_ there's this girl Jin that Zuko totally hooked up with while they were all in Ba Sing Se. She sounded totally cute, and Iroh said they had dinner, and when Zuko came back," she finished conspiratorially, "he was _smiling_."

She paused a beat for emphasis, looking crestfallen when Toph and Sokka simply frowned. "Come on!" she moaned. "_Zuko_! _Smiling!_ He doesn't, like, _do_ that! This is a big deal, you guys!"

"Girl has a point," Toph mused. "This is Sparky while he was in his mega-torment phase. If he was actually _smiling_—"

"_Beaming_!" interjected Ty Lee with relish.

"Then this has promise," finished Sokka, with a nod. "So for the follow-up, we write to this girl, and get her to show up at the ball." A glance down gave him a full view of the skepticism on Toph's face, her perfectly arched eyebrows, but he crossed his arms. "This isn't a time for subtleties, guys. We're going to have to hit them with everything we've got. Jin's just our front line."

She smirked. "Of course. Full _steam _ahead._"_

A vessel in Sokka's temple began to pound, and Toph, feeling his blood pressure kick up a couple notches, allowed herself an innocent grin after the comment. Sokka took a breath through his nose and let it out, counting mentally to ten. "Iroh'll be able to contact her, right?" he asked loudly, of Ty Lee.

She beamed. "Already done, boss. Sent Hawky off and everything."

"Good work, Agent Rose. Right." Sokka rubbed his hands together, forehead furrowing into his _plotting_ face. "Stage Two is slightly different. This is the direct attack: Stage One stirs up a little mistrust, but this stage is deliberately crafted to drive them apart completely."

"Snoozles, you're getting _way_ too into this."

But to her surprise, instead of going all twitchy and aggravated like she'd expected, Sokka smiled at her. "Actually, _Agent Rocky_," he said brightly, "I really think you'll be interested in this next part."

Toph paled slightly—and since at best, she had the complexion of a poorly ghost, this was saying a lot. "See, we need to drive a wedge between the two of them," Sokka continued, his eyes gleaming with vindictive delight. "And I can't think of a better person for this particular job."

"Oh," she murmured. "Oh, Sokka, you'd better not mean what I think you—"

He was enjoyed it too much even to correct '_Agent Wolf'_. "You," he interrupted, with all the satisfaction of a lawyer delivering their closing argument, "are going to kiss 'Z'."

"You're _joking_," Toph deadpanned, at the same time Ty Lee blurted, "Oh! Oh! _I'll_ kiss him!"

"No, and _no_," Sokka said firmly, to one and then the other. "You can't, Agent Rose; Kat… 'K' won't fall for it. You…" He paused, struggling. His first thought was actually, _You'll kiss anything that moves_, but suspecting that wouldn't do it, he finished, "You're too good a friend of Mai's to do that, even though they're not together."

"And I'm _Sparky's_ friend!" Toph snapped, voice rising.

Ty Lee blinked. "And I'm _not_?"

"Hey!" Sokka raised his hands, semi-effectively capturing both girls' attention. "Ty Lee," he said softly, "can I have a second to talk this over with Agent Rocky?"

Maybe she caught his pleading look, and maybe she simply decided to humor him and let the _Agent Rose_ slip slide. Whatever the case, Ty Lee paused and then winked conspiratorially—Sokka had no idea what she was trying to say, but grinned weakly anyway—and then the gymnast flipped up onto her hands in one swift motion, teetering out the door. Sokka glanced down at Toph. She sat on the ground in front of him, arms so tightly crossed it seemed unlikely she would ever be able to unknot them. "Okay," she said as he took his own seat, before he could even get out a word, "_no_."

"Agent Rocky," he said slowly, "it's a crucial part of Stage—"

"Not happening," she snapped, cutting him off before he could even get to the good part of his explanation. "Goddamnit it, Sokka—do I get the sucky job because I'm a girl, or what?"

"What?" He recoiled instantly. "_What?_ No, of course not! It's not supposed to be a big deal, Top… Agent Rocky; you're just the best one to do it!"

"Why not you, then, if it's not a big deal?" she retorted. "Why can't you do the kissing instead?"

Sokka raised an eyebrow, letting what she'd just said sink in. "Right," said Toph a moment later, flushing slightly, and Sokka agreed uncomfortably, "That's wrong no matter _how_ you look at it."

"Okay," she sighed. "Fine. But just think about it for a second. Even if Sparky never finds out whose plan this was, he's my friend. I can't kiss him in front of Sugarqueen. He'll blame me for the whole breakup if I do, and I don't want to deal with his freaking angst-guilt-trip." She scowled like thunder, indirectly at the ground. "'Sides, kissing your friend is just… awkward."

In fact, she'd made a very good point, Sokka realized, maybe without meaning to. They didn't want fingerprints on this scheme, let _alone_ lip-prints. If anyone knew Toph was in on the plan, they could guess Sokka was running it—it didn't take the Fire Lord to figure that out. They needed to avoid direct contact with the enemy, he decided, and crossed out a line of notes on the page.

"Kissing your friend," he echoed. "That's awkward?"

She nodded staunchly.

"Would kissing me be awkward?"

He didn't entirely miss the way she went rigid at that, nor the flooding blush that lit across her face like wildfire. "Gwhaa?" she demanded, sounding like she was choking on her tongue, and then, "Is this… _relevant_?"

"You don't want to kiss Zu—ah, 'Z'," he shrugged. "Fair enough. But Kata… I mean, 'K'—"

She seemed to regain some of her edge as he stuttered, relaxing again—though not quite all the way. "Sokka, no one's listening. You can say their names."

He sighed in half-relief, grinning as the new plan solidified in front of him. "Katara just needs to _think_ she's seeing Zuko," he explained eagerly. "And you're right; you kissing him is too obvious. But if it wasn't really Zuko…"

She was quiet for so long he was about to clarify further, but at last she spoke, saving him a fresh heap of discomfort. "You think I should… you know, get caught with you."

A nod.

"You, dressed as Sparky."

Another nod.

It was a Spirits-awful plan. She knew it. So she really had no excuse.

But there were some opportunities one didn't pass up.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea."

* * *

The ball gown was horrible. So was the makeup. So were the multiple pounds of ornaments in her hair, and the way people kept looking at her, some staring outright. Did she have something on her face? Well, stupid question; she had ludicrous amounts of paint on her face, but _besides _the obvious.

Worst by far, though, were the butterflies.

They was not because the Steam Nation's demise was officially underway, and they was decidedly _not_ because she had just been swaying around the ballroom with Aang. Her friend just looked so miserable she'd had to offer to dance _once_: Teo—ah, Spirits bless the naïve—had approached them about ten minutes ago, and after a little small talk wanted to know why Aang had let Zuko dance with Katara for so long. After two minutes, Twinkles been subsequently ditched at the punch bowl, and, feeling she'd done her part as his friend, Toph was free to be swallowed by nerves again.

Because right now, Sokka was busy getting his own facepaint, if of a different nature, from Ty Lee. She _was_, to be fair, the most artistically inclined of the three—not exactly that Toph or Sokka posed much competition—and so she was in the process of paling Sokka's skin, whatever that meant, and painting that wonderful scar that was the source of so much angst onto Sokka's face.

_Because_ Stage Two—the _scandalous_ part of the plan—was about to… _no, _Toph corrected herself. It had just begun.

Taking a deep breath, she felt Ty Lee patter into the room. This was Iroh's cue, and the man motioned across the room to get his nephew's attention. Zuko kissed Katara once on the cheek and then hurried away, turning out through a side door when Iroh calmly gestured in the direction.

Ty Lee's turn.

Right away, the gymnast pirouetted over to Katara, tapping her gently on the shoulder. Katara's heart pattered for a moment in surprise—she and Ty Lee were far from the best of friends—but then Ty Lee bent closer, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. Toph didn't need to hear her to know what she'd said: _Um… Katara? Look, I think there's something you need to see_.

And as Ty Lee lifted a hand to point at her, Toph hesitated, trying to direct her expression into something as anxious-looking as possible—it wasn't terribly hard—and then turned, hurrying from the ballroom.

And things started to go wrong.

As Ty Lee continued to explain, in whispers, why Katara _absolutely, like, no excuses, had to come with her right now_, Suki glanced over at the two and didn't quite managed to ignore them. There was, firstly, the fact that Katara had gone very pale suddenly, and second, the other fact that Ty Lee was trying just a little too hard to be secretive.

So when the gymnast grabbed Katara's wrist and all but frogmarched her out of the ballroom, Suki snuck a quick look around to make sure no one was watching her, and then hurried after them.

* * *

"Thank Spirits you're here," he called, as she rounded the corner and hurried out into the little courtyard. "This makeup sucks."

"Blah, blah, blah," Toph muttered, sauntering down the steps and across to him. "Don't talk to me about makeup, Sokka."

She felt a smirk slide across his lips. "You look like Kyoshi," he said, grinning widely, and she smacked him in the shoulder.

"About a hundred times awesomer, though," she retorted as he rubbed his arm ruefully. "Come on, _Sparky_, let's make this look good."

Carefully smoothing the skirt for no other reason than to seem occupied, she took a seat on the bench next to him, taking a moment to examine the garden. She could feel the tree behind them, branches extending over their heads; she sensed the small pond in front of them, water lapping softly against the earth; she knew that there was a nest of turtle-ducks, the smallest the size of her palm, nestled up in the small patch of grasses at the far edge of the water. It was still and quiet and so peaceful that their plan felt suddenly stupid and hectic, but then Sokka wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she stiffened, feeling her face going hot and thoughts of turtle-ducks sliding away. "I hear them coming," he whispered, and she gave a weak nod.

"Just sit here?"

"Yep." He shrugged. "And look adoring, maybe."

"Don't push it," she started, but then broke off abruptly. "They're at the west doorway," she said, and Sokka nodded; she felt him angle his head so Katara would be able to see the scar.

There was a brief moment while she smiled, an expression indulgent if not adoring, and Sokka bent down to her ear, murmuring, "_Is she buying it?_" and then Katara's heart took off, slamming against her ribs so hard it seemed ready to burst out—at first in shock, but then…

_Oh, hell. _"Sokka!" she hissed through her teeth, as Katara's lips parted. "Katara's gonna yell! We've got to do somethi—"

His mouth on hers cut her off mid-word.

* * *

**To be continued… **_**still**_**. That's right, folks, we're only half done with the Steam Nation's demise. And yes, this is going to turn out like every soap opera you've ever seen. **

**You want an **_**example? **_******_Besides _that**** yes, Suki was watching, and no, she doesn't fall for Sokka's disguise? Fine: ****next chapter, enter Jin. And Mai. In the same room. With Zuko in the middle. And a very imminent catfight. _And_ most of the under-17 Avatar cast watching with metaphorical popcorn. Got your attention yet? ^_^**

'**Til then, reviews are always appreciated!**


	42. Stumble

**#79. Stumble**

**PART 3 OF 4. Can you say **_**fanservice**_**?**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA

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_Part 3_

Sokka had nearly fallen off the bench when Toph walked into the courtyard.

There was a distinct difference between knowing your friend was going to be dressed up and actually _seeing_ it. It was… Spirits, the last time she'd dressed like this was a year ago in Ba Sing Se, but she'd been a kid then, and somehow _wasn't_ now. He swallowed hard, mouth working for a moment as he searched for something—anything—to say. "Thank Spirits you're here," he blurted, and then, when her face fell slightly, "This makeup sucks."

"Blah, blah, blah," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she transitioned seamlessly from a jog, sauntering down the steps towards him. "Don't talk to me about makeup, Sokka."

He'd been one-upped, but he didn't really mind, as it gave him both an opportunity and an excuse to stare. She'd done something with her eyes that made her eyes stand out vividly, and her hair was half-down—it was _long_! Did she usually wear it up? Why didn't he _notice_ these things? "You look… like Kyoshi," he said, catching himself halfway, and Toph gave a smack on the shoulder he probably deserved.

"About a hundred times awesomer, though," she retorted. _I'll say_, thought Sokka. "Come on, _Sparky_, let's make this look good."

She took a seat on the bench, and as her bare shoulder brushed his, a shiver ran down his arm that had nothing to do with the fact she'd just touched his new bruise. She took a slow breath and let it out though her nose. Sokka's eyes narrowed in scrutiny—she seemed to be lost in thought—but after a moment he noticed her toeing the ground, and realized she was looking at the garden.

He glanced up, making his own inspection of it. It was beautiful, he supposed, although to be completely honest, he wasn't entirely sure he liked it. Like the rest of the Fire Nation palace, it was regal and elegant and just slightly _too_ picture-perfect, the type of place that always make Sokka feel small. For all the perks to being Fire Lord, he didn't envy Zuko having to live here.

Toph, of course, was a completely different case in point. She'd grown up in a home just like this; he had no idea if she liked the palace, but the fact remained she was utterly at ease here, just as she was wherever she went. Usually, being around her when she was busy being nonchalant would make Sokka feel better, but for some reason right now, sitting next to his best friend was making Sokka very nervous.

So, naturally, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Again, a shiver—not entirely unpleasant. "I hear them coming," he said, more a rationalization than anything else.

She'd gone stiff. "Just sit here?"

He grinned. "And look adoring, maybe?"

If it came out slightly too hopeful, Toph didn't seem to notice. "Don't push it," she replied, with a lopsided smirk, and then stopped. "They're at the west gate," she said softly, and Sokka resisted the urge to glance up, instead angling his head slightly so that while his face was in shadow, his scar would be clearly visible. She smiled up at him, and for a moment he felt himself freeze. There was something about her smile, the genuine emotion not quite masked by amusement, that reminded him startlingly of Yue.

He panicked, bending down half to hide his shock and half to be closer to her. "Is she buying it?" he asked, lips barely moving as her spoke.

Toph hesitated, and then abruptly her eyes widened, the muscles in her arm tensing under his hand. "_Sokka! Katara's gonna yell_!" she hissed. "_We've got to do somethi—_"

Afterwards, he would have liked to know what the hell other _something_ he was supposed to come up with. Afterwards, he also would have liked to be able to say it was like kissing a sister, or even that it had been awkward, or at least that it had been part of the plan.

But the moment he leaned in, there wasn't any Katara and certainly no plan. He was no longer aware of the garden or the makeup, just her and himself and the way her hair felt in his hands, surprisingly soft… just, in fact, like her lips… and it wasn't Toph he was kissing any more, not the Toph he thought he knew, but someone new who was even _more_ than that… but still Toph all the same—?

Several meters away, Katara gave a yelp like a kicked puppy and turned to run, tears dripping through her fingers and onto the white stone floor. Ty Lee, fighting the urge to giggle in delight, spun to chase after her.

But Suki stayed precisely where she was, in the doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard, staring at the two. There was something distinctly wrong with this picture, something Katara hadn't taken the time to see. Not even considering the fact that Toph was the little sister Zuko wished he'd had—and unless Suki had read him _very_ wrong, the boy didn't seem like the type for incest—there was something off about Zuko: his build, and the way his hair hung, and…

_And the fact that his scar was rubbing away._

When a Kyoshi warrior wants to move, she moves _fast_. Toph—under later defense of being _just a little distracted at that point, Sokka_—never saw it coming any more than he did. The slap caught him across the cheek, knocking him off the bench. Suki stared down at him, eyes ablaze.

"What," she said softly. "The. _Hell_?"

Her vicious glare was reserved solely for Sokka. If she had so much as noticed the painful tension, Toph might have been a third wheel, but, staring ahead with a dazed, wide-eyed expression, she appeared to detect none of it. "Um," Sokka mumbled. The last ten seconds were too much to wrap his head around all at once—he felt like he'd been flung into a cold shower without warning, and coherency was far too much to expect. "It's not… what it… looks like?" he offered weakly.

"I can see what you're doing," Suki snapped, crossing her arms. "You're trying to break up Zuko and Katara by making it look like he's cheating. I'm not _stupid_, Sokka; I don't care about that."

He blinked. "You… don't?"

"No, I don't." She watched his face, the slow hopeful smile beginning to form, and then her eyes narrowed. "What I do have a little problem with is why the_ hell _you're kissing_ her_ instead of your _girlfriend?_"

"Bu… but…" _But it had been his and Toph's plan, and he didn't want to risk involving too many people, so would she rather he kissed Ty Lee, and anyway, he didn't think she'd ever know _or_ that it would come to _this—_!_

None of which were very good excuses at all. Toph, who seemed to have jolted to, stayed statue-still, terrified to move and call attention to herself. "But I can't!" he protested. "Everyone knows I'm dating you; if Katara saw you kissing me-as-Zuko, she'd expect me to come kick Zuko's ass for it, but then I couldn't do that because _I'm_ Zuko—"

"_Who's_ Zuko?"

All three froze, Suki with a scowl like murder, Sokka on the ground, halfway between sitting up and not daring to rise, and Toph doing her best to remain invisible. _Oh, hell_, thought the latter two. Zuko stood in the doorway, eyes alight with fury, twin fires leaping in the palms of each hand. Behind him, as they watched, Aang scrambled through the doorway, the determination on his face freezing abruptly when he caught sight of the four-way standoff already in place. "Oh," Toph mumbled. "H-hey, Zuko. Aang."

"Katara just came running from here," said the Fire Lord softly.

Sokka blinked, very slowly. "Oh."

"She's crying," he continued. "And when I tried to talk to her, she slapped me."

"I'm… sorry?"

Zuko's eyes flashed. "So," he said. "I think you'd better explain now."

It wasn't a suggestion.

* * *

Sokka's eyes darted to Toph—standing by the tree with Aang and Zuko—and then back to Suki, in front of him. Judging from the last few minutes, it seemed Toph's explanation was going a lot better than his own. Unfortunately, when talking to an angry girlfriend, there was apparently nothing you could say right.

_Especially _'I'm sorry'.

"I don't care if you're sorry!" Suki snarled, hands balled in fists at her sides. "It doesn't change the fact you did this behind my back. Spirits, Sokka, what other things have you just not told me?"

"Nothing!" he protested. "Nothing at all, I swear!"

She hesitated. Her face fell a moment later, and she blinked hard, dipping her head. "You know what the worst part is?" she said softly. "I don't know if I believe you."

"Suki—"

"Did you hear me?" she demanded, staring back up at him. A couple tears were running down her cheeks, tracing flesh-colored lines in her meticulous Kyoshi makeup. "I can't _trust_ you, Sokka. I don't know if that matters to you or not, but for the record, it freaking _sucks _for me."

He grabbed her arm as she started to turn away. "Please," he blurted, "can't we just talk—?"

"There's nothing to talk about." She jerked back, swiping at her eyes and smearing the makeup. "We can't do this, Sokka, not if we don't trust each other."

His hand fell, limp, to his side, and she turned with one quiet sniff, leaving the courtyard. Sokka stared after her, mouth hanging open, and then turned silently towards the other three. Aang, Zuko, and Toph were all watching, though the moment he caught sight of them, their faces fell to polite disinterest. Aang stood to offer the warrior his seat, and Sokka took it, collapsing heavily onto the bench. "Did she…?" said Toph quietly, at the same time Zuko began, "Are you…?"

"Yeah," he murmured, not looking up. "Guess so."

Toph grimaced. "I'm sorry."

"Nah." He shrugged feebly. "I think she's right; we've been distant. It's… it's okay." He glanced up, seeing, as if for the first time, the three worried stares directed at him. "Really," he insisted. "I'll be all right." His eyes fixed on Zuko and Aang, mainly the former, who sat next to him on the bench. "Then, you're not… mad?"

He sounded rather more skeptical than he should have, Toph observed—did he _want_ Sparky pissed at them?—but Zuko simply shook his head. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him: when he first sat down, at the beginning of her explanation, he had gripped the bench's edges so tightly his knuckles bulged against his skin, but as she had explained the Plan, his grip had relaxed, not even so much composed as thoroughly exhausted.

"I'm not angry," he sighed, lifting a hand to run through his hair. "Well, that I got slapped, yeah, but it's just as well. Actually," he added, with a little snort, "I guess it's almost funny."

Toph blinked. "Funny?" she echoed. "How?"

Zuko shrugged, a wry grin on his face as he stared down at his hands. "You didn't have to do any of this, you know," he said. "I was going to break up with her anyway."

For a moment, there was utter silence.

"You're not lying," said Toph weakly.

Aang gaped. "You—but—_why_?"

His lips twitched upwards. "It's just… look, Sokka," he started, glancing over at the other boy, "it's not that Katara's not a great person and everything, she _is_, it's just…"

"Just _what_?" Aang demanded, but Sokka simply eyed Zuko, looking vaguely amused by the sudden role-reversal. "Just…?" he prompted.

"She's so _emotional!"_ Zuko exploded, throwing his hands in the air. "She either couldn't be happier, or the whole world's about to end, and when I do anything wrong it's like she going to kill me, and—and she cries! Like… a lot." He stared plaintively up at the warrior, looking utterly pitiful. "And the hope," he added timorously. "Does she talk to you about hope?"

Sokka paused, tilting his head to the side, and then clapped Zuko suddenly on the shoulder. "Zuko," he declared, "you are not alone."

Zuko stared for a spilt second, and then the smile that had been skulking on the edge of his lips finally appeared, sliding across his face like a glissando. He laughed softly, and Toph grinned despite herself. The Plan was intact—intact in the sense of a smashed vase glued back together, but intact nonetheless. "So… we're good?" said Sokka, as Zuko stood, flicking a stand of hair out of his face.

"Yeah—just about." He paused, rubbing his forehead, and then turned away. "I think I should go back to the party now…" he murmured, starting to trudge towards the door.

In the next couple seconds, things happened very quickly. "There you are!" cried someone from across the courtyard, and then a green-clad figure raced across the grass, skirting the pond. All Sokka had time to catch was a glimpse of dark, braided hair and a huge, glowing smile, and then the girl reached Zuko and, throwing her arms around his neck, planted a long, lingering kiss on his lips. He went rigid, heart leaping, raised his hands to the girl's shoulders to tug her away—but the hands slipped loosely to her back. For just the slightest moment, Zuko kissed her back, and then the girl pulled away, and he went pale, reality catching up a few yards behind instinct.

"I'm sorry," she said, blushing slightly as Zuko gawked down at her. "I'm just… I was sure I did something wrong, and then I learn you're the Fire Lord, so I figure you'd just forgotten about me, and then I got your letter in the mail—royal messenger hawk and everything—and you wanted to see me again, and—I'm rambling, aren't I? I'm sorry." She broke off, pressing her lips together in a vain attempt to hide a grin about to split her face in two. "So… I guess you know how I feel about it, then," she mumbled.

Zuko's head swiveled around to fix Sokka and Toph with a look that could have committed mass homicide. "You invited _Jin_?"

"Ah… ha," Sokka said. Toph didn't talk, too busy miserably failing to hide a grin. "Um. Who's Jin?"

Jin's forehead furrowed. "What?" she asked, smile dimming. "Didn't… you didn't invite me?"

Zuko blanched, turning back towards her. "No! I mean… I didn't, but I'm not… I'm not _not _happy to see you—it's just com—"

Jin's eyes went suddenly steely. "Don't," she snarled, stabbing him in the chest with a finger, "say _complicated_. Spirits, I don't know why the hell I even bothered to come. _Complicated—_what's that, just Fire Lord code for 'one-time-deal'?" Her face darkened, jaw clenching. "Maybe _I_ just don't get it," she offered, voice acerbically bright. "After all, I'm just a _commoner_. If you're royalty, is it okay to pick up a _commoner_ and kiss her and then just ditch her? Because I don't know if you're used to just getting your way like that, but that's not freaking _okay_ where I come from, Zuko!"

"Jin, please," he interrupted, grabbing her shoulders. "It's not like that; _I'm_ not like that. Look, I really did like you—I still do—but I wasn't in a situation where I could get involved with someone then!"

"So you should have _told_ me!" she argued, voice rising. "You could have explained that, just told me there was personal stuff going on, and I wouldn't have got in your goddamn way! No one _made_ you kiss me!"

Silver tears were beginning to pool in her eyes, congealing on her dark lashes. "I got a letter," she whispered, "saying you were sorry, and that you'd been on the run at the time, but that you wanted to give this another chance. If you didn't really want me here, you should have just said so." She blinked and brushed her hand across her face almost simultaneously, catching the tear before it rolled across her cheek, and then swallowed. "I think I'll go now," she said faintly, turning away.

Toph frowned—two figures had appeared on the edge of her vision. "Sokka?" she hissed, but he shushed her rapidly, eyes fixed on Jin and Zuko. She turned to Aang, but he seemed equally transfixed.

"Jin!" Zuko lunged, catching her arm and spinning her around; she blinked owlishly at him. "I'm sorry," he said deliberately. "For how I acted—it wasn't fair to you. I should have trusted you, or at least been honest with you, but I couldn't tell anyone. My uncle and I were trying to start over—I didn't want him hurt, and I didn't want you hurt if you got involved with us."

"Didn't want me hurt?" Jin gave a bitter laugh. "Screwed that up, huh?"

"_Sokka!"_

"_Quiet, Toph!"_

"Please." His hands slipped into hers, and he met her gaze, unwavering despite the ice he found there. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've changed a lot since then. Back while I was in Ba Sing Se I hurt too many people, and I'm sorry you were one of them."

"Sokka!" she snapped, and at last he looked up in time to see two figures in the doorway. One, clothed in black, was dragging the other by the arm. The latter wore a pink dress and a rather sheepish expression. "This is _adorable_," Mai said loudly.

Zuko's head snapped up as though pulled by elastic, and instinctively he grabbed Jin closer, wrapping his arms around her. Mai arched a single eyebrow, and he paled, going rigid and trying to edge quickly away, before stepping back again when Jin glared. "Ty Lee giggles when she's up to something," Mai continued in a drawl, "but usually it's never as interesting as this."

Sokka stared. "Ty Lee? You _gave away the plan_?"

"She _made_ me!" the gymnast protested. "She's got _knives!_"

Mai flicked her fingers at the words, and a silver blade danced through them. Jin gasped, and Zuko's eyes widened. "That I do," Mai said quietly. "Who's the slut, Zuko?"

"Excuse me, bitch?"

And just like that Jin had shoved Zuko's arms away, planting her hands on her hips. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm his…" Mai's eyes snapped to Zuko instantaneously. "His _ex-_girlfriend."

"Huh. That makes two of us."

It was the face-off to end all face-offs. The tension was so palpable it would have been too thick to cut with even one of Mai's knives; neither Sokka nor Toph dared move a muscle. Ty Lee whimpered quietly—Mai's hand was still clenched around her arm, and with every word spoken, her pale fingers tightened further. "Twinkles," Toph said pointedly, "I think you better go see Katara now."

He nodded rapidly and shuffled a couple inches back, eyes darting side to side, before taking off through the opposite doorway. Mai ignored it, either not noticing or—more likely—not caring. "Didn't see much of the '_ex'_ there," she observed, eyeing Jin.

The girl smirked. "Jealous?"

"No."

"Oh?" Jin's eyes gleamed. "Bitter, then."

"Do I _look_ bitter?"

"No. But you don't actually look capable of emotion either, so I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Toph gave a low whistle, raising her eyebrows. Zuko glared feebly, but Jin and Mai didn't appear to notice. "Whatever," Mai snorted. "I guess you're fine—he's all about emotional girls now. Just ask his girlfriend."

Jin whirled on Zuko. "You have a _girlfriend_?"

He cringed. "N-no—not anymore!"

Mai laughed softly. "You work _fast_, don't you?"

Jin took a breath through her teeth. "You weren't his girlfriend a year ago, were you?" she wondered innocently. "Round the time he was in Ba Sing Se? Because he didn't seem to think he had a girlfriend then, either." She laughed dryly, face no longer half so innocent, as she watched Mai's suddenly glinting eyes flick between her and Zuko. "What, can't decide which one to _knife_ first?"

Mai met Jin's gaze and twitched her fingers. A second knife appeared in her hand. "_That_," she declared, "won't be a problem."

Zuko raised a hand, stepping forward. "Mai, Spirits, _don't_—"

The first knife whistled through the air, slashing sharply across his shoulder as he leapt aside. Ty Lee, seizing the opportunity, turned and sprinted, disappearing through the doorway; nobody made any effort to stop her. Mai tore across the courtyard but, to everyone's surprise, shoved Zuko away and flung the knife aside, instead slapping Jin across the face. The girl yelped and then, eyes murderous, threw herself at Mai, knocking her off balance. Mai flailed and tumbled into Toph, who grabbed onto Sokka's sleeve as she staggered backwards, and with an almighty _splash_, the two of them landed in the pond.

For a moment, there was utter silence, and then Toph's fists clenched.

"Oh, that's _it_."

She got slowly to her feet, flicking soaking locks of hair out of her eyes so that absolutely everyone could see the fury blazing there. Her beautiful dress was soaked; her makeup dripped black tears; there was a strand of pondweed draped across her shoulder. Zuko, Jin, and Mai all stayed still, perceiving that they'd gone a step too far. Toph's hand twitched, and all three were thrown into the air, flying across the courtyard and landing hard on the ground. Zuko crashed into the tree and slumped, motionless, to the ground. Toph turned to Sokka, still sitting in the water by her knees, and glared halfheartedly.

"Your plans suck," she muttered—it had no force behind it—and then she turned, first lifting her skirts but then abandoning the effort. Instead she brushed the pondweed off her shoulder and squelched away towards the steps. Sokka picked himself up, snuck a quick look at Mai and Jin, and—seeing the looks on their faces—took off after Toph.

* * *

The plan was in shambles.

Clearly.

Anyone who had witnessed Toph and Sokka leaving the courtyard would know it.

But Ty Lee had seen no such thing. As far as she was concerned—Mai aside—the plan was going perfectly. Aang had gone to find Katara; Toph and Sokka would be back to join her shortly. This was great.

Time for Phase Three.

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**Hydroknight, there be your Mai-stabbiness ^_^ Catfights are wicked fun to write.  
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**Phew—**_**looooooong**_** chapter (this arc has been tough on the boys so far!) So, anyone remember what Phase Three was? Hint: next chapter's called 'Dance', if it helps. And yes, it WILL go about as well as Phases 1 and 2… XD**

**Any more Maiko vs. Jinko votes? Yeesh, I **_**like**_** Jin… life sorta sucks for her, if ya think about about it. Though Mai's knives are EPIC WIN… oh, well. Cast your vote, if you haven't—and reviews are awesome, as always! **


	43. Dance

**#80. Dance**

**Phase Three begins... let the awkwardness commence :D  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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_Part 4 of 4_

Even if Toph had been entirely blind, she would have known Sokka was trailing a few feet behind her, for his shoes emitted a loud and graceless _squelch_ with every step. Dignity stemming from the general injustice of the plan's failure allowed her to ignore the glistening puddles extending behind them, but with him her irritation could only go so far, and she slowed to let him catch up.

"So."

"So."

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry about—" they both began together, and then broke off with identical nervous laughs. "You first," he blurted, at the same time she prompted, "What?"

"Um." He looked down, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. "I'm sorry I, you know… about the, eh… kiss." The final word came out almost inaudibly, a single fearful squeak of a syllable.

"Oh," she said quickly. "Oh. Right. No, don't worry about it—I mean, I didn't… it's not a big deal."

"Oh. Well… good."

"Yeah."

"Yep."

"Mm-hm."

"_Yep_," he said again, smacking his lips on the 'p'.

The silence seemed to grab the available oxygen and run with it, and for a moment Sokka was quite sure his tongue had shriveled and died from a sheer lack of will to live. The awkwardness was of the stifling variety, even so, but its appearance around Toph was so startlingly unprecedented that he had no idea what to do. "I'm sorry too," she muttered, after a moment. "For pulling you into the pond, I mean."

"Don't worry," he replied instantly. "I mean… not like it's my jacket." He allowed himself a fleeting glance at her, adding as an afterthought, "I'm sorry about your dress, though."

She shrugged. "Don't be. I wasn't going to wear it again."

"That's too bad," he murmured. When her eyebrows drew sharply together, he continued, "It's pretty, is all."

"Oh." She blinked. "Thanks."

"And that pondweed really brings out your eyes."

She threw a punch that caught him in the forearm, no small amount of gratitude behind the blow, and his flinch was a happy one. The awkwardness was alleviated and behind them now; this was safe territory again. "Here," he offered, and reached across, plucking the offending plant from her hair as they stopped outside the ballroom door she'd left through an eternity ago.

She made a face, and he flung it surreptitiously into the corner, prompting a small smirk from his friend. "Anything else?" she asked.

"A little makeup," he informed her, a tactful understatement. "Here, hold still." Reaching out carefully, he rubbed his thumb across her cheekbones, swabbing away the worst of it. Her skin was cold and wet but still, for some reason, touching her face—in fact, simply being in such close proximity—was altogether unnerving. She pressed her lips together, realizing after a moment that for no reason at all she was holding her breath. He pulled his hand away hurriedly, wiping it on his pants. "Come on," he said, motioning towards the doors, and taking her hand when she made a frantic face. "This is the quickest way to our rooms," he insisted. "I don't know about you, Toph, but I'm not exactly loving the pondwater look."

"Fine," she sighed, rolling her eyes. He acted as though she'd given an enthusiastic agreement—frankly, when she was in a sulk like this it'd be the best he'd get—and carefully, silently pushed the double doors open.

* * *

"_Hey-hey-hey-hey-hey!"_

One of the band members broke off from his tsungi horn riff, glancing down at Ty Lee. It wasn't a particularly professional thing to do, especially in the middle of a piece, but there were exceptions to be made when it was a pretty girl flagging you down—even more so if, when you looked at her more closely, you remembered you'd made some kind of deal with her earlier during which she batted her eyelashes a lot. "Hm?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"_Code Pink!_" she hissed, a stage whisper to be heard over the other musicians. A single pale finger jabbed insistently towards the far door of the ballroom. "_Repeat, Code Pink! The targets'll be coming any second!"_

It was then that he remembered the nuances of this deal—something about playing a romantic song? Slow waltz? That sort of thing?—and nodded fervently at her, trying hard not to be distracted by how naively low-cut her dress was… and not realizing that the way she beamed and giggled and sauntered away, she probably knew _exactly_ how it was cut and precisely where his eyes had been.

He tried to follow the girl's strut away, but she was lost in the throng of dancers, blending seamlessly into the crowd that thrived with people, as madly animated as a shaken snowglobe. But she was out there, and _depending _on him, goddamnit, so he turned to the band and motioned to them, lowering his horn. The dirty looks were worth it for the other musicians caught on quickly—he hadn't been alone in his interest in the girl—and all of them readied themselves for a split-second change in song.

Unknown to all of them, Ty Lee headed quickly away to the quiet bench where Iroh was waiting. A mischievous grin skirting the edges of his lips, he inclined his head in greeting as she approached, plopping down beside him. "I see you have been very busy with the plan," he said lightly, in his calm accented cadence.

"Everything's in place," she replied. "You've got your part, right?"

He cast his eyes to the sconce above his head, and the flame in it flickered and died in an instant. Ty Lee beamed, pressing her hands against her lips to conceal the grin. "Great. The door over there," she informed him, pointing vaguely as she turned away.

"Eh?" He glanced in the direction she'd pointed—a spot on the far wall, directly between two sets of double doors. "Ty Lee!" he called, as loudly as the need for stealth would allow. "Which door?"

But she was gone. Sighing, he was about to turn back to his bench when one of the doors began to creak open. He spun on his heel, hands rising sharply to his sides as his fists snapped shut. The lights throughout the room hissed out, save the two flanking the door, which leapt three times their height. Across the room, the band all cut off abruptly and launched into a fanfare. Every person in the room blinked in surprise and then turned like moths towards the light.

In the doorway, the target of everyone's stares, stood…

_Not_ Katara and Aang.

Sokka, squinting into the dark, stared dumbstruck at the crowd, a small puddle congealing at his feet. Beside him, Toph had gone rigid—not aware of the light, but still able to sense that every person in the room had their eyes directed straight at them. Such attention is a physical sensation, a crawling pressure on the skin, and she felt it as tangibly as she felt Sokka's hand clenching on hers.

_Uh-oh_, thought Ty Lee.

* * *

"This is all your fault."

Both girls sat on the ground, their unconscious and mutual ex-boyfriend an unwitting barricade between them. The looks Jin was giving Mai could have generated electricity; the looks Mai was giving Jin could have frozen a waterfall solid. "Shut up, slut," Mai said flatly, toying with a shuriken in one hand.

"If you hadn't slapped me—"

"If _you_ hadn't tackled me…" She broke off sharply as Jin reached out towards Zuko's face, eyes narrowing. Jin glanced up, meeting Mai's eyes for just a second, and then retracted her hand, scowling.

"Why the hell does this matter?" she demanded. "If you're not together."

"It doesn't."

"Clearly. That's why you slapped me."

"I just—I don't have to explain this to you," Mai snapped, turning away. Jin's lips curled.

"He dumped you."

Mai's eyes flashed. "_He didn't_—"

"He dumped you," she continued, "and you're not over him at all, are you?"

"You're one to talk."

"Have you seen him?" Jin snorted, shaking her head. "He's not exactly an easy one to get over, Knives."

Mai's head snapped up. "What did you call me?"

"Well, I don't know your name."

The shuriken stopped moving idly through Mai's fingers. Her eyes rose to rest on the girl sitting across from her as if seeing her for the first time. Jin raised an eyebrow, a look that wasn't quite a grin, but might yet become one flickering on her face.

"Mai. I'm Mai."

"Jin." The Earth Kingdom girl hesitated, gaze falling to Zuko's downturned face. "You two weren't actually together when he and I… you know—right?"

Mai's lips tightened. "No," she muttered. "We were always…" She broke off, fists clenching and then slowly loosening against the grass, falling limp. "I've known him forever," she explained quietly. "I think I always assumed we'd be... together. But then he left, and by the time he got back… nah." She laughed wryly. "We tried. He left again. When he came back, he'd suddenly decided he liked curvy blue-eyed waterbenders instead."

"Yeowch." Jin blinked, frowning. "But you still—?"

"…Yeah."

Jin paused, eyes traveling down to Zuko, and then abruptly flicked him in the cheek. "Boys are stupid," she said dully.

"Tell me about it."

It was probably an accident. Neither had noticed that suddenly they didn't hate the other entirely so much, and as they looked up, it must have been a fluke of the light—or something—but Mai's mouth seemed to spasm at the same time as Jin's, and unexpectedly they found themselves smiling at each other.

Between them, Zuko moaned suddenly, face contorting. The moment shattered like glass, and Jin glanced down at him, breathing slowly in and out.

"You know that you're a lucky bitch, right?"

Mai stared, but Jin's gaze was fixed solely on Zuko's face. She reached out and, this time finding no venom from Mai, ran her hand along the side of his face, tracing the rough edge of his scar. "I wouldn't work with him," she murmured. "When he was on the run… but not now." She looked back up, meeting Mai's incredulous stare. "Yeah, that's right," she smirked, eyeing the other girl. "_I'm_ being the bigger person, Knives. Shocking, much, from the _commoners_?"

For once, Mai seemed too surprised even for a deadpan response. "You're just… leaving?"

Jin grinned widely. "No," she corrected, and bent down, her hand curling around Zuko's neck. She lifted his head a few inches off the ground, leaning down to press her lips to his. Zuko's eyes snapped open in shock, and he began some kind of muffled protest that faded into an '_mmm_'. Mai, who had expected a modest peck, maybe a couple seconds as the most, raised an eyebrow skeptically as the kiss lingered on.

And then Jin pulled back, and Zuko, who had almost completely sat up in an effort to follow her lips, nearly tumbled back again. "He's all yours," said the Earth Kingdom girl, with a smirk she made no effort to conceal, and stood, turning away. She strode with impeccable poise to the doorway, and then, seeming unable to help it, added over her shoulder, "That's how it feels, _Lee_."

She rounded the corner. Zuko stared, blinking in slow motion. His head swiveled around hesitantly towards Mai, who crossed her arms.

"Did you want to say something to me, Zuko?"

He eyed her, staying quiet. Mai frowned. "Do you need a _hint_?" she inquired after a moment.

His gaze fell. "I have plenty of things _to_ say," he said softly, swallowing hard. "I just don't know that there's anything I_ can_ say to you, Mai. Nothing that's fair to you." His jaw clenched, and he stared furiously down at his lap. "I… I thought that I should move on," he admitted. "I thought that you loved me because of who I acted like; I didn't think you'd want to see who I was, and I didn't want to draw out something inevitable, and then Katara… but it wasn't right, Mai." He took a deep breath, bracing himself, and then finished, "She wasn't you."

"But other than _that_, you have nothing to say."

He glanced up at her. She shifted wearily, dropping the shuriken onto the grass, and then reached out, threading her hand into his. Zuko's eyes flashed from the hand and back to her face, widening. "Sorry is a decent place to start," she suggested quietly, and then leaned in, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. His hand tightened on hers as she pulled back.

"I told you," she murmured. "I don't hate you. Regardless of whether or not you deserve it."

A smile broke across his face like a shaft of sunlight. "I don't hate you, too," he replied, leaning towards her again.

His head snapped sharply to the side with the force of the slap. He cried out, grabbing his cheek, and Mai smirked. "You did deserve that."

He shrugged, still grinning weakly. "Probably."

Mai generally wasn't a person who smiled very often, but when she did, Zuko was certain there was nothing more beautiful in the world.

* * *

"_Sokka, people are looking at us. What's going on?"_

"I don't know," he hissed frantically. "This isn't part of the… _the plan_."

"Oh damn," she gaped, fingers tightening on his. "Ty Lee didn't tell them—"

"I think she…"

_Well,_ thought Iroh blithely_, it's just as well_, and called out, "Presenting the Lady Toph Bei Fong and Sokka Hadoka of the Water Tribe."

For a moment, Sokka wanted to hate Iroh. Then he looked back and realized, no, in fact, he didn't. Toph looked petrified, face bone-white despite the flicker of gold from the torches that licked her cheeks. He was quite used to her being the brave one, her being the one to throw herself out with no concern for the world's opinion, but she had faltered. He had to do something. His lips tinged with the ghost memory of the kiss. Iroh… _damn_, but Iroh was a smart old man. Zuko's uncle was giving him an opportunity, and Sokka had no intention of wasting it.

With a gentle but firm tug, he pulled Toph forward, and she stumbled alongside him. The people parted like grasses bending aside in front of him, clearing a route to the center of the ballroom. Iroh calmly raising the lights again, sending a few soft jets of flame leaping especially high in the beautiful chandelier, right above Toph and Sokka's heads. With all the eyes of the world watching, Sokka folded an arm around his best friend's waist, taking her hand in his; she placed her hand on his shoulder, and the band struck up a waltz.

"You know how to dance, right?"

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to, Snoozles?"

"Right. Sorry. …What should I do?"

"Stand straight," she instructed. "And hold me closer."

His hands tightened, pulling her in from the arm's length she'd been held at. "Like this?"

"Yeah." She lifted her chin, ignoring the faint blush across her cheeks. "I guess you can lead."

"Very generous."

They began to dance.

Her hand fit perfectly in his—Sokka wondered why he'd never noticed. "So…" he said slowly, "um, about the, uh, kiss."

She flushed slightly, angling her head away. "No worries," she replied quickly. "It never happened."

"Oh," he murmured. When she frowned slightly at his tone, he continued, "You didn't… not… like it, right?"

She went a dark red, prominent even in the low firelight. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Sokka paused. "Okay," he agreed, after a moment. "It never happened. Guess it's just as well."

He watched her face carefully, knowing he'd read her right when the barest hint of hurt glossed across her eyes. "What do you mean?" she said, with forced detachment.

He grinned lightly, and as he spins her slowly they came to a stop in the middle of the floor, a blotch of red and green in the middle of the whirling couples. "Because it was just part of a plan," he murmured. His hand was still resting on her waist, hers on his shoulder. "It wasn't supposed to mean anything. And that's not right."

He was drifting slowly closer, and she sensed it, hesitated, frowned. "Sokka…?"

He lifted the hand from her waist to her face, running a thumb softly across her cheek. "This should have been our first kiss," he whispered, and leaned in.

Her lips were still as soft as he'd remembered, and she tastes like surprise and freshwater. When she went rigid, though, he pulled back an inch or two. "What's wrong?"

She pressed her lips together. "I'm… not dreaming?"

He laughed and this time when he bent down towards her, she was kissing him back, and he didn't know what he'd been thinking for the last years. It was like the ground had flipped beneath his feet in a way that wasn't entirely bad, as if he was standing right-side-up for the first time in his life—earlier he couldn't fathom what he was thinking when he kissed her, but now he couldn't understand what took him so long. Toph kissed him back, uncertain at first but increasingly sure, and they were both soaked and muddy but she couldn't imagine a better moment in her life. They didn't even move, just stood there with their hands still clasped as if frozen mid-dance, and from across the room Ty Lee gave a loud squeal and Iroh grinned complacently.

When they separated a moment later, her makeup was still smudged; he still had the remains of a scar on his face. Their hair was equally drenched and braided through with pondweed, and they left a silver slick of water behind them as they began again to whirl across the floor. But of all the couples to dance across the palace's ballroom, even as the other pairs tore their gazes away and began their own dances, never had the waltz been danced with the dignity that Toph and Sokka had that night.

* * *

He found Katara crying in her room; he listened to her explanation—not that it wasn't anything he didn't already know; he gave her a hug—_flinching at "You're such a good friend, Aang"_—and led her back out to the ballroom.

And saw the two of them.

Katara chased him out as he spun and ran, ricocheting down the corridors like a pinball let loose, eventually collapsing onto a bench in a courtyard that had seen too much that night. It would have been startlingly ironic if he'd stopped to care. She rounded the corner to see him staring down at his feet, thoughts in his head crying louder than her footsteps. _Their plan… their stupid plan to help me, and _they_ end up together… _and 'you're such a good friend, Aang' stuck playing over and over.

She sat down beside him.

Quietly, he explained. She listened silently, before speaking at last.

"You did all that for me?"

He looked up, nodded with tremulous eyes.

"Aang," she said softly, "I think… people make mistakes sometimes." When he didn't look up, she forged on despite him. "We can't… hold it against them. People can be stupid, Aang; they can not know what's really best for them."

His face fell. "You mean, trying to get you back."

"No." She smiled, the slightest curve of her lips and tilt of her eyebrows, somehow infinitely bittersweet. "Letting you go."

The Avatar blinked, childish and wide-eyed. "But… but you said—"

"I thought…" She glanced away, fumbling. "That what we had reminded me too much of the war. Of things I didn't want to think about. I wanted to move on, you know?" Her fingers danced against the ground, drumming an edgy rhythm. "But that's not the way to do it, is it? You don't move on alone." She pressed her lips together, and squeezed his hand. "You do it together."

The kiss a moment later was soft and hopeful, and from their vantage point just inside one of the doorways, Toph and Sokka clearly deserved the quiet fist-bump they exchanged. "Well?" he whispered, nudging her. "I'm good, right? Toph, am I good, or am I _good_?"

She snorted. "Sokka, your plans still suck."

She bit down a yelp as his arms snaked around her waist, and he grabbed her into a hug, planting a kiss on her cheek. "I said," he murmured, voice low in her ear, "am I good, Toph, or am I _good_?"

Grudgingly, she conceded, "This plan was _okay_."

"I'll take it," he shrugged, giving her a squeeze, and she couldn't help the smile surfacing on her lips. He paused, and then added, "But never again?"

"Oh, _Spirits,_ no," she agreed fervently, and he laughed, slinging an arm around her as they started down the walkway.

* * *

**It sort of depresses me that I actually have the ability to come up with this kind of fluff. Mental cavities, anyone? Yep, Maiko won (but Jin got the last word anyway ^_^) And a message to anyone who it seems like I've been ignoring: I'm sorry if I haven't answered reviews/PMs**—**I'm starting out at boarding school, which has redefined 'crazy'. You're not being ignored, promise.**

**Reviews are always appreciated!  
**


	44. Past

**#2. Past**

**Last time was fluffy. And what does Victoria do when it's too fluffy? ANGST!**

**Okay: this is not a songfic. Those are annoying to write and distracting to read (in my humble opinion, no offense to anyone) and personally I make an effort not to write them. But… any 3 Doors Down fans here? Listening to the song—which for some reason always gets to me—and this came together. And it's not a songfic. Really.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA or the song... that this isn't... a fic... of?  


* * *

**

**But all the miles that separate **

**Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face**

**I'm here without you, baby**

**But you're still on my lonely mind…**

—_**Here Without You**_**, 3 Doors Down

* * *

**

_He's lost._

_So is she._

_He knows it, and the second fact plants a cold seed of fear in his stomach that grows as if in a time lapse, strangling him. A thick fog like dragon breath curls around him, cold and damp. He's never understood the phrase 'chilled to the bone' so completely before—but he can't go back. She's here. Lost. Scared._

_He needs to help her._

"_Where are you?" he shouts. His voice doesn't echo, but the opposite—it seems to carry forever, a single cry, lost in the cold white ocean of mist. "Toph, where are you?"_

"Help me!_"_

_It's faint, faraway, seems to come from every direction at once. "Toph!" he cries, wheeling in place, trying to figure out which way to run. "Toph, keep talking, I'm coming!"_

"_Sokka!" she shrieks. Is her voice quieter? "Sokka, please, help me!"_

_He throws caution to the wind and picks a direction, digging in his heels. The ground under his feet is slippery, unforgiving rock, gray as ocean and twice as ruthless, and he skids and stumbles as he sprints towards her, his feet almost flying out from under him. "Toph?"_

_This time there's no reply. "TOPH!" he bellows, running faster, his feet falling from under him. The mist is congealing around him, and the faster he runs the harder it becomes._

_For a single heartbeat, there's silence still, and then she screams._

_His blood curdles, his heart stutters in shock like a child backhanded across the face. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up: this is a sound that's a warning cry since before the start of time, a sound that says 'run while you can'. Right now, there's no worse thing he could possibly hear._

"_Where are you?" he screams, spinning in a circle. "Toph! I have… I'm going to help yo—!"_

_His foot skids against the rock; he hits the ground hard, a jolt of lightning jarring through his kneecaps and the palms of his hands. He tries to stand and slips again; this time his chin ricochets against the stone, and he tastes blood in his mouth. "Help…" he pants, struggling to his hands and knees. "Help you… help… me…"_

"_Sokka?"_

_Slowly, fearfully, he raises his head. She stands in front of him, just a yard or two away, tendrils of mist caressing her face. Her skin is as pale as the fog, her clothes a green so pale that for all purposes they might as well be white too. "Sokka?" she repeats, and despite the impossibility of it, her eyes seem to focus on him. She can see him._

_She can't see him like this._

"_Toph?" He forces himself up. Blood makes his hands slip; he's covered in tattoo bruises. "You're okay," he breathes, heaving himself shakily to his feet._

"_Sokka," she says softly, and reaches out an ivory hand towards him, and then suddenly she lurches forward. A stain of red's spreading across the front of her shirt, and as he watches, she crumples to her knees, coughing. A spray of scarlet splatters the rock in front of her. "No," he breathes, "Toph, no!"_

_He scrambles towards her, but she lifts her head, blood staining her lips. "Sokka," she whispers, and then she begins to melt. Her flesh blackens and peels away, she's a layer of raw bloodiness for a moment, and then it crumbles away into rotten black meat draped over bones; a nightmare face with empty eyes stares up at him, reaches out a skeleton hand—_

He wakes up screaming.

Like last night.

And the night before.

And every night he can remember.

The dark circles aren't prints but tattoos under his eyes, and his whole face looks thinner, worn out, like the skin's been wrung out and hung back on his skull. He swipes a hand across his eyes, brushing away liquid, and rolls over. The sheets are tangled around his legs. Outside, a sliver of moon drapes a silver veil across the tundra. It says a lot that he can be at the South Pole, and still the blankets are soaked with sweat. He shoves them back, shivers violently, and then reclaims them.

Rolling over, he closes his eyes and shoves the nightmares away. They watch him shiver for a moment from the shadows, and then reclaim him.

_They're on Ember Island. He's not sure how he knows it, but they're there, walking together on the beach, and her little hand is slotted against his like two puzzle pieces. "You're okay," he said faintly, and she smirks at him, a wide catlike grin that shows all her teeth. _

"_I wouldn't get hurt," she replies. "That's what stupid people do."_

"_I miss you," he says. "I haven't seen you for so long." Which isn't strictly true when he sees her every night, but this doesn't feel like a dream. She's here beside him, far too real not to be. Her small fingers seem wonderfully warm, or maybe he's just cold._

"_Yeah, well," she shrugs, glancing away. "I guess I'd miss you too, if I really was gone."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I haven't really left, you know," she says. "I'm still there with you."_

"_You won't leave."_

"_No," she says, "you won't let me go."_

"_I miss you," he says again, and suddenly she stops in front of him, her hands slipping away from his. She tilts her head to the side, and he can almost see her taste-testing words inside her mouth. There's a soft mist starting to paint the air around them. He knows it's important, and though he can't remember why, it makes him shiver._

"_I think… I miss you too," she says quietly. "Sokka, I need to tell you something."_

_He nods, seriously, meeting her eyes that seem so beautifully aware. "Me too," he says. "Toph, I think… I should have told you before, but I… I lov—"_

_A hand claps over his mouth, cutting him off in the middle of the most important sentence of his life. He chokes, reaches to grab it away, but more of them clutch around his arms, his chest, pulling him back. "Sokka!" screams Toph, but the mist is thick now, and he can't see her, just hear her—Spirits, she's scared…_

"_Toph!" A figure blurs against the mist across from him, and he reaches out towards her against the invisible hands. Her hand flutters in the air like a wounded dove, their fingers just brushing, and she gasps; but then she's jerked back away from him, into the fog._

_The hands holding him drop him suddenly, but he knows there's no point in chasing. She's gone._

He wakes up for the second time this night, but slowly this time, quietly. The sand under him shifts imperceptibly to furs and blankets, and it hurts all the more; for nothing else, it makes what has just happened seem so much closer.

He realizes after a moment he wasn't crying only in the dream. His face is wet, and the tears have iced his cheeks in soft silver cold, numbing his face. He scrubs them away. Always just a second too late… always the fog…

And he remembers, not because he wants to, but because the sound shoves itself through his mind like an arrow sinking into a heart. He remembers_ the fight, and the smoke from the fire—not fog, but smoke, and he was blind—and her beside him…_

_But she slipped—impossibility of impossibilities, but she slipped, just for a moment, just in a puddle, and then the soldier raced towards them, and she turned to face him—_

_Someone struck the edge of the building; it crumbled, chunks of white rock falling like broken clouds—_

_He'll never forget the crunch of the back of her head caving, her skull inverting into itself, bone on bone on brain; he'll never be able to entirely force away the memory of her vacant face and bulging eyes, the streams of red running from mouth and nose. She fell and hit the ground with a little thud, and then it was over. Done. Finished._

_Lost._

He curls into a ball, twin fists jammed against his eyes as if to shove the pictures away with brute force. Has he slept at all in the last week, last month, last half-year since that day? No, but the memories… he wishes he could say they're not this bad usually, but they are. He sleeps in fragments like broken glass. Lately he's afraid to close his eyes, because he always sees hers when he does.

It hurts, so much, a hollow aching inside his chest, the numb fact that she's _gone_. Knowing it's dangerous, he can examine it from a safe distance—a little boy prodding, with a stick, a jellyfish washed up on the beach—but to touch it hurts too badly, and instinct makes him shy away. But Spirits, the dreams are so real… sometimes it seems she could even be…

"Hi, Sokka."

Oh, Spirits.

Surprise? No, surprise is past him. He's dreaming. Isn't he always? He watches her, silhouetted against the door to his hut, step into the room and stop a couple feet away. "You missed me," she says, and she's not asking, she's stating.

_Be quiet, Sokka. Be quiet and it'll go away._

"Well, I'm here," she declares, spreading her hands. "Jeez. I thought you'd be happier."

"You're not."

"Not here?" She raises an eyebrow. "So you're talking to no one."

"Not real," he insists, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes are hazy with sleep, but Toph seems different: lighter, and half-blurred around the edges.

There's a dribble of red running down the corner of her mouth. That's real.

"You think I'd really go away?" she demands, with a martyred sigh. "Spirits. I'm here as long as you want me here, Sokka."

He stares. The red on her mouth is blood—he knows, without a doubt—but she's there and talking. There's a strange, jagged edge along the side of her head; he's terrified for her to turn around, terrified by what he might see if she does. "I… shouldn't you move on?" he mumbles. "You wouldn't stay. You don't let people hold you back."

Toph rolls her eyes "I'm not… letting you," she corrects. "You couldn't keep me here if I didn't want to be. I decided to stay—you don't want me to go."

"You could go without me," he protests. "You _should_."

"Neither of us want that."

He grits his teeth. His eyes are stinging, and crying now would be the final proof of weakness. "I don't want you to go," he whispers, looking down at his hands. They're stiff, the skin eerily pale, and it occurs to him numbly that he can't quite feel them. "I don't want to be alone."

"Then don't be."

He glances up and starts: she's beside the bed, holding out a pale hand. He follows it up her arm, along her shoulder and through the curve of her neck to her set jaw. Her mouth has curled into a grin as she opens it again to speak. She's seen something in his face, or maybe deeper than that, and she knows.

"It doesn't hurt," she says softly. "It's like falling asleep. Come on."

He reaches out, and breathes out softly, and takes her hand. It's warm, and he thinks maybe he is cold. She tugs gently but insistently on his fingers, and without a word, he follows her as she brushes past—or maybe through?—the skins across the door. "This way," she says. They're standing on the tundra, the lights of the Water Tribe village visible along the path like softly flickering fireflies.

There are so many stars—above him and then around him too. Toph's hand never lets go of his.

* * *

They find him—what part of him he left behind—in the morning, sprawled on the path outside his house. The smile on his face has frozen stiff.

* * *

**Um. _That _wasn't familiar or anything *cough*Little Matchgirl*cough*. ...In my defense, I didn't think of that until after I finished. Anyway, Hans Christian Anderson vibes aside, reviews are always appreciated!**


	45. Sensuous

**#10. Sensuous**

**I guess this is unofficially dedicated to **_**Shahrezad1, **_**because without her link to a very entertaining Deviantart pic, I wouldn't have been browsing the author's Avatar fanart, and without **_**that**_** I would never have found a particular picture.**

**It wasn't a Tokka picture. Actually, it was Teoph (as you'll see soon enough.) And I'm not vehemently opinionated about Teoph one way or another—well, okay, so… they're meant to be 'cause they're both crippled? O-kay… but OTHER than that—but my first thought seeing the pic was not 'aww', but 'oh, God, what will Sokka think?'**

**Hence this.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

* * *

**

He'd always mildly intimidated her, because in a manner of speaking, he didn't have feet.

If your entire survival depended on your feet, the idea of _not_ having them was a horrifying one. But he didn't seem to care—or, maybe, if not that he didn't care, he couldn't stand for it to slow him down. That impressed her.

It took her a long time to understand he felt exactly the same way about her and her eyes. He told her she was amazing—_amazing_, that was what he said, honest—and she shrugged and reddened and told him he was pretty damn cool too. Bending was inherent; he managed to get by because he was freakin' smart. He seemed pleased, and ducked his head, brushing his hand across his face. She thought nothing of it at the time.

The first kiss came quite out of nowhere—she was sitting on the arm of his chair, and it was quiet, and they were both smiling, and then he reached up a hand to her face and…

As first kisses went, it was rather unremarkable, but it didn't seem that way to Toph. It was shivery and strange and somehow still nice, and he smelled good, like wood shavings and copper.

Unlike some first kisses, it was certainly not the last.

Slowly she grew more used to it; slowly it became more than novel and slightly bizarre and she enjoyed it. Iroh noticed how started to smile more—a secret, quiet expression; not smirk, but _smile_—and to spend time out on the teashop balcony with him.

If anyone else saw it, they didn't say anything. Neither did she. This kind of secret was unnecessarily fun to keep.

Now, however, keeping that secret seemed to be perhaps _not_ the best of her ideas.

Slowly, she straightened up, hands—previously folded against Teo's chest—rising without thought to straighten his collar. Her face was a blank as a sleepwalker's, because nothing was wrong, because this _absolutely clearly could not be happening,_ because if it was she knew for a fact that the humiliation might already have killed her. Teo shifted under her, lifting a hand to the back of his neck. After a moment, it occurred to Toph to fix her shirt, tugging it haphazardly down over the pale crescent of waist Teo's hands had been exploring just seconds ago. Her bedroom had gone as still and silent as a photograph, the last lingering beat of peace before the storm.

"I repeat," said Sokka loudly, "what the hell is _this_, young lady?"

Her cheeks were a red that defied description—she felt like her face was on fire—but she tilted her chin up defiantly anyway. "Spirits, can you learn to _knock?_" she demanded. "It's called kissing, _Mom_—what's the problem?"

"What's the—what the _problem?_" he gawked. His heart was pumping strong and fast, a rhythm she couldn't quite place in its tempo. "What do you think the problem is? This is _not_ _okay!_"

"And what's so wrong with it?" she demanded. "Sokka, you do this _all the time_."

"You're not… you can't _kiss him_!" he snapped, brandishing a finger at the two of them. "Toph, you're… you're just a kid, and…"

Teo's hands had gone rigid against her waist, but Toph crossed her arms, glaring in Sokka's general direction. "I'm fifteen," she said tetchily, slipping off Teo's lap with meticulous dignity. "Spirits, if you really need to yell at someone so bad, go find your freaking sister, Sokka. Teo and I were a little busy until you walked in—"

"_Busy? Busy choking on his tongue?_"

"Leave her alone!" Teo snapped suddenly, startling both of them as he wheeled a few steps forward. "Sokka, what the hell does this matter to _you_?"

Neither of them saw it coming—even if they had, perhaps they wouldn't have believed it, simply because it was Sokka. The older boy lunged forward, and in a moment grabbed Teo out of his chair, lifting him up by the collars of his shirt.

"Listen to me," he snarled, bending closer towards Teo's face. "You don't _touch_ her. Anyone else, Teo, you can do whatever you fricking want, but you stay the hell away from Toph—got it?"

Teo stared in shock for a beat, and then Toph stormed forward, sitting Teo firmly back down in his armchair with one arm and shoving Sokka back with the other. He staggered, and she darted towards him, stabbing him in the chest with a single pale finger.

"Leave him _alone_," she said coldly. "I don't know what your problem is, Sokka, but just back off. You're not _my _brother, and you're not my dad. Don't try to act like it."

She spun on her heel, placing a hand on the back of Teo's chair. "Come on," she said flatly, and he wheeled himself away, her following with still-knotted arms as she pushed past Sokka towards the door. "Spirits, what's your _issue?_" she heard him mutter, and then she was gone.

He stared after her, heard her footsteps fade down the hall, and then whirled, slamming a fist against the doorframe.

He couldn't answer her. He didn't know what it was, why he cared, why the hell what he'd just seen got under his skin. He couldn't stand the feeling it gave him, so strong it was almost painful: a distant cousin of the way he felt seeing Aang and Katara but more, fiercer, a thousand times more furious. He'd shoved open her bedroom door to tell her… what? He couldn't even remember now, something funny that had happened, and seen the two of them, a tangle of limbs on top of Teo's chair.

His heart seemed to swell, or maybe his ribs contracted; either way he had abruptly too much pressure forced inside him and no way to release it but to explode. She had been positively furious, of that he was completely sure, and he couldn't blame her, but…

Her hair loose, falling in her face, her wide grin against Teo's darker lips, the way his fingers played across a rim of skin at her waist…

He didn't want Teo touching her.

He didn't want _anyone_ touching her.

He told himself it was because she was like his sister, and still couldn't quite think of a name for the new hollow feeling inside him, the sudden absence of pressure, a new vacuum where his stomach should be.

He left the room feeling like something was missing, like he was a puzzle with a piece torn away. He didn't understand what he'd lost, how he could lose anything he'd never had. It wasn't until much later that he could concede enough of his pride to wonder if the word _regret_ was the right one.

And the other feeling, the stifling pressure, the loss of any self-control?

_Envy?_

No, he told himself. Surely. Of course not.

Not that it was below him—but that he'd never admit to her after that day that maybe it wasn't.

* * *

**Ha, you little pervs. You wanted fluff makeout scenes for 'sensuous'? Tsk tsk. That would be predictable, though, wouldn't it? Nope, you get angsteh drabbles, 'cause it's Sunday and I'm lazy ^_^**

**I'll repeat, I don't ship Teoph (Tokka? Hell yeah, Captain Obvious. Toko? Sure—Toph's cooler than Mai, and he's hot; I'll take it. But Teoph? MEH.) I'm not sure how to say it, but Teo is just sort of **_**there**_**, for me. He's far from Toph/Sokka/Zuko, with all entailing awesomeness, but neither is he on par with the Steam Nation. Still, there's a nice long explanation (read: justification) for this lil oneshot up top, if you care. **

**If not, reviews are awesome, as always!**


	46. Recorded

**#55. Recorded**

******I think I know what it is.**

******I am referring, of course, to why we see Teoph, and Toph/Haru, and Jetoph, which is enough randomness to start a crackhouse, and never any OTHER girls who get that nasty end of the stick. Toph don't have an actual established love interest (the undereducated, at least, will argue) and so she's basically the only main character on the market. And because it's common knowledge that she's completely and utterly awesome**—******hey, I'm not disputing that**—******people would like her to have a love interest. But if you're a *shudder* _Suki _fan (no pun intended) Sokka is taken. So. Surely there's a multitude of boys out in the Avatar-verse to pair Toph off with, right?**

******Well, no _duh_. **

******But the _point_ is, Tokkaneers know which one is the one that actually works ^_^  
**

******Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

* * *

**

There aren't a lot of photos in Sokka's apartment, and it's for a reason. Frankly—well, first off, anyway—he wasn't a very good-looking little kid, so his dad's got all the pictures with the potential to ruin Sokka's existence carefully locked away in their attic, never to be taken out under threat of death.

Well, that sounds self-centered, is the problem, and he's not trying to be. Who's he need a picture of? Zuko he spends too much time with, probably; Katara and Aang he _definitely_ sees too much of; Suki lives right around the corner.

Of course, he knows you don't _not_ have photos just because you see someone a lot. The more you see someone, the more you want a picture for when you don't. You always want them around, a little instant of them crystallized, captured and framed on your shelf, so when they're not there you can look at them and smile because seeing them happy makes you happy. Corny, but true.

And if he could, Sokka would take all the pictures he could of her.

So he takes pictures his own way instead: mental pictures he snaps in the moment as it happens, and develops later in memory, hanging the images out to color and dry across the span of his mind. He can look back like ruffling the pages of a photo album, and those are his photos.

He has pictures of her first with Teo, perched on the arm of his chair, an arm slung around his neck. She's smiling, giddy—it ought to be entertaining, because Toph's _never_ giddy—but maybe everyone's giddy when they are where she was, and even someone as shrewd as Toph can't help but be blind at least once in her life. He doesn't dwell on it, though—he rarely sees this picture, and it was never good quality, a muddy snapshot, blurred by a flare of red across his mental lens that he can't quite explain.

With the picture comes the memory of an awkward conversation while watching TV that began with her animated, "So guess what happened to _me_ today?" and closed with the retort, "You're dating Suki, Sokka. Chill _out_." There was something in the middle about an invitation to a concert, just two of them, and a band she liked, and maybe he dropped his glass of Coke when she said it, but he didn't mean it like _that_. She didn't have to overreact, right?

Girls were crazy, he decided, and kept the picture to prove it.

And he remembers the night she showed up at his door dripping tears and tripping on explanations; he can picture like it was yesterday the way she curled up on the end his couch, a pillow pressed against her face, and didn't say a word. He walked silently away to the kitchen and when he sat down next to her without a word a minute later, she looked up to find him offering her a carton of Ben and Jerry's.

Chunky Monkey flavor, her favorite. It didn't occur to her until later that he hated banana.

Then a couple month's later she's back in the game—it's a kind of gambling, right, and we all know that's the most addictive game in the world. Next there's a picture of her and Haru, and that creep's got his hands around her waist, both of them, and she's grinning up at him and did Sokka and retrospect just add the glint in his eye, or was that always there? He remembers all too well those awkward couple months, the way it made his stomach curl to watch her peck him hello or goodbye on the lips—sometimes _more_ than peck. Haru was older than her, Sokka's age,_ much too old for his Toph_, and sometimes Sokka's hands would clench into fists just seeing them stroll down the street, Haru's hand slipping lower on her hips than it goddamn should.

It's five-oh-seven in the afternoon when she taps on his door—he doesn't think it's her at first, because Toph only ever walks in if it's open, and whales on the knocker if it's not—and he stares down at her, and she swallows hard and shoves him her phone with a text message still scrolling across the screen.

He hugs her. It feels appropriate.

She doesn't comment on the ice cream this time either, but he thinks maybe she notices something as she watches him pick out the chocolate. Sometime after eight o'clock she falls asleep with her cheek pressed his shoulder in the middle of _The Sixth Sense_—no romance, she said, and he knows that's her favorite movie.

He and Suki don't last, and he sort of sees it coming so it's probably okay to say it was mutual. It's summer now, and he and his best friend hang out on the beach with him, always wearing the same green bikini. Either she's never owned one before or she's never pulled one off before like this, and somewhere around the end of June he starts to wonder something he can't put his finger on.

This time she doesn't have to tell him; this time he's there when they walk up to get something to eat—they're both still in bathing suits, so he doesn't know why he wants to tell her to put a shirt on. It's mid-way through the line when the punk, all tan skin and tousled surfer hair, sidles up and, hey, wants to know what she's doing later, and if he can pay for her ice cream, maybe?

He shares a double scoop of Chunky Monkey with her and says he loves banana. Sokka's chocolate tastes bitter in his mouth somehow, and there's a photo that's inexplicably acerbic of the two of them leaning over the table towards each other, and Toph laughing and toying with her hair.

The boy's name is Jet, which Sokka now knows for certain is a stupid name. He brings flowers on the first couple dates, red roses that set Toph's cheeks flaring the exact same color. "I thought you didn't like flowers," Sokka mutters, and maybe he's sniping just a little but it's got to be justified, right?

"I like the gesture," she fires back, crossing her arms, and he can't say a word. He doesn't bring flowers any more after a little while, but she doesn't mention it.

He'd give anything for things not to have ended like they did—he'd even be okay with them being together, so be it—but God, he's never before really wanted to kill someone until the banging wakes him sometime after midnight. When he yanks open the door, looking like he'd been trampled by a stampede of elephants, she's sitting on the doorstep, her face glazed with tears, hair falling out of its bun and jacket slipping off her shoulders. Words don't come out right when she tries to speak them, but Sokka hears enough about hands everywhere and a plea to stop that Jet somehow didn't hear.

"Did he…?" he starts, and she shakes her head.

"I punched him."

His eyes crackle with anger, and he can't help demanding, "Jesus, Toph, what the hell did you expect?"

She looks back up at him and there's something so broken in her face, something so weary, and for the first time he wonders if Toph's really just as lost as everyone else, just as broken and Krazy-glued as he's certain he is. "I don't know," she whispers. He doesn't know if she usually wears makeup, but she is now—it's running across her cheeks, inky-bruise shadows that make her look only half-alive. He steps aside to let her in. While she takes a shower, he digs through his warzone of a closet to find the pair of sweatpants that fit her.

The ice cream is in the freezer. It's never occurred to him how hopeful an act it is to keep it there, arrogant and insightful at the same time. She's already waiting on the couch when he comes back with the carton and two spoons, wearing his too-big clothes, hair loose around her small shoulders, and he sits down next to her and passes her a spoon and takes another snapshot of a picture he's got too many copies of.

But he loves his photos of her, and there are worse things to be addicted to, and it's a beautiful instant with her spoon clinking against her teeth and the silence of not being alone in the apartment. This is a photo of them, as they are, as he smiles to remember: her with her head on his shoulder, him with an arm around her like a blanket, an empty tub of Ben and Jerry's wedged between them where other couples keep children or miniature dogs.

She looks up sometime after they finish the ice cream, eyes faintly red and teetering on the brink of understanding. "I didn't think you like banana," she says quietly, and Sokka smiles.

"I don't," he replies.

* * *

**Yes, I lump Teo in the same category as Haru. In his defense, he's nicer than the other two... but 'tis not a tricky thing to be. And Jet... oh, _Jet_. Such a creep.**

**Apologies in advance, because updates = nigh impossible right now. ****High school is frickin' _hard_ XP But I'll work on it on the weekend, so no worries. MASSIVE thanks to everyone who reviewed, it really does make a difference ^_^  
**


	47. Lose

**#74. Lose**

**I ATEN'T DED (yet.) **

**But Pratchett-ness aside—and if you didn't get that, your life is incomplete, by the way—it is true—mostly thanks to fluff and vanilla cappuccinos ($1.75 for a cup of school coffee? Hell no, I says… at first. But damn, it be delicious...) Anyhow, you don't really care. Tokka ahead!  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA

* * *

**

The day took an immediate turn for the unfortunate when Sokka walked into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him, flicked on the lightswitch, and took a habitual step forward.

This happened pretty regularly every day. The non-regular part was that the lights didn't go on, and both he and his roomie had the regrettable habit of leaving backpacks, shoes, and generally anything that could potentially have been put away on the ground instead. He didn't even know what he fell over before he was flying forward, scrabbling for something to break his fall, and he grabbed onto the side table by mistake. At that moment this table contained, among other things, all of their keys, a radio, a change jar—containing about $16.52—and a handmade vase from Katara from her pottery class.

The crash was a thing of beauty.

The change jar smashed; the keys went jangling and the radio skidding across the floor; and the vase did a backflip, coming down on top of Sokka's back as he hit the ground and rolled away, a ninja-like response to the table that crashed—_timber_—down where he was a second ago. The entire world seemed to be make of fireworks and train crashes, and then suddenly there was silence, the only noise the _roing-roing-roing_ of a freed quarter pirouetting across the floor.

"You know," called his roommate helpfully from the living room, "you could just say, 'I'm home!'"

Sokka was not in the mood.

"Toph," he demanded, heaving himself up gingerly—barehanded and sock-footed, he was far from broken-glass prepared—"_where are the lights?_"

She paused. "How the hell am I supposed to know about the lights?"

"Why are they not turning _on_?"

"Gee, Sokka, I don't know. Let me shuffle over with my _cane _and see if I can't help you out."

He hefted himself to his feet, hissing in pain—his ribs _killed_ where the vase hit him. "For those of us who don't have canes," he snapped, "it is rather difficult to find our way around when there's no light, Toph."

"Oh my God," she said slowly, eagerly. "Did you trip?"

"_Trip_," he declared, drawing himself up taller, "is not the word. I suffered a near-death experience—"

"—You did trip."

"Because the lights didn't turn on when they're supposed to!"

Toph hesitated. A dim dusky light filtered from his bedroom window at the end of the hall, and he could make out her dim silhouette, black superimposed over dark gray. Her hands were planted on her hips. "So?"

"So, it's your turn to pay the electricity bills."

"_January_," she drawled, folding her arms. "I pay the phone bill this month, retard."

And in fact, Sokka had a nagging suspicion that it really _hadn't _been her month to pay the electricity bill, but she sounded supremely confident that he couldn't help fighting it. "Oh?" he challenged. "Well, okay. Sure, Toph. Let's just _call_ the company and see what we can work out."

"Fine," she snapped, reaching without looking and snatching hold of the wall receiver. "Just be grateful that you can call at all, since _some_ of us remembered to freaking pay our—"

She broke off suddenly, and then, pressing her lips together, flashed a hasty grin. "Um," she said. "Heh. Actually, I think the line is busy. I'm just gonna…"

He lunged and snatched the phone, stabbing at a few buttons hopefully, but to no avail. The line was dead. Slowly, he set the phone back on the hook and turned to look at Toph. "Okay," she said slowly, rolling the word around on her tongue. "Okay. This is definitely not my fault."

His jaw dropped. "_What?_" he demanded, and instantly she raised the cane, brandishing it pointedly at him. "Oh, that's not _fair_!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "That's your excuse for everything."

"Because it's nice and multi-purpose," she retorted smugly. "Also because I can't address envelopes, Einstein."

"You don't _need_ to address an envelope to pay through the _phone_!"

Her eyes widened, instantly shimmering with calculated distress. Bambi would kill to look this innocent at will. "But you didn't pay the phone bill," she reminded him, a slight reproachful edge in her voice.

"I pay the _electricity_!"

The wide eyes were gone as quickly as they'd come. "So it's really your fault you tripped then, isn't it?" She shook her head wearily. "Honestly, Sokka."

"So you admit you pay the phone bill?"

"Only if _you _admit that epic fail of an entrance was your own damn fault."

For a moment, they eyed each other dubiously—well, Toph doesn't _eye_ him, but it's the intent that counts. "Hey, if _you_ hadn't left your freaking bag there," he began, as she observed, "If you had any sense of balance at _all_—"

They both stopped and waited, before she groaned, leaning against the doorframe, and he threw up his hands. "What now?" he muttered, almost to himself.

It was inexplicable to describe the sound of Toph rolling her eyes, but even with zero visibility, he was sure he sensed it. "Well, since _some_ people are deficient at navigating, we gotta crash somewhere else, right?"

He sighed, running a weary hand across his scalp. "Guess so," he agreed. "Zuko?"

Sokka's forehead creased as he tilted his head, thinking it over. "That's not bad, actually," he replied. "I mean, he's only a couple blocks, and it's not like he'll actually say n—"

"No," she interrupted, "we can't."

He frowned. "But—"

"Last week," she prompted, "where you decided we were gonna go spend the weekend because he got that new TV… and then we walked in on…?"

"Oh. _Oh_." He shuddered convulsively. "Oh, God, that was so horrible."

"You didn't hear them!" she asserted fiercely, jabbing the cane at him. "I have never heard Mai sound that into _anything_ befo—"

"_Stop_." He clapped his hands over his ears. "We are not having this conversation; I'm sorry I even mentioned it; Zuko is out of the freaking question. Happy?"

"I am now."

"Great," he muttered. "So...?"

"What about Su—"

She broke off mid-word as his head snapped up, more reflex than anything else when he couldn't see anything. They were probably too in tune with each other by now, he registered faintly—both blind, whether legitimately or just in all rights, and they could still sense the other's motions without seeing them. She had been swinging her cane idly through the air—he registered it as a faint finger of substance, looping back and forth—but it froze in midair, dropping back to the ground. "Su… _So_," she amended quickly, "so, um, maybe… we could try…"

"It's okay," he said softly, and she stopped. "You can say her name."

"Right," she replied, sounding relieved. "Suki's out, because you didn't have the good sense to break up _before_ the end of winter." Then, though, she seemed to stumble, finishing, "Erm… look, not that there's any problem with that. And I don't like her house anyway; it always smells like Febreze and Febreze is really kind of gros—"

"Toph," he interrupted quietly, "it's cool."

Her brow furrowed, but she shrugged it off. "Good," she said lightly. "It'd suck even if you were dating. You two'd get all cutesy, and I have no desire for cavities."

"Oh, ha, ha." He rolled his eyes, knowing there was an unrepentant grin on her face right now. "What about Aang?" he shrugged. "There's always him."

Loudly—and rather gratefully, for the change in conversation topic—Toph pulled a face. "Right—are you going to pay cab fare cross-city? Because I'm broke, and the _hell_ I'm walking in this weather."

A fair point. One great advantage and disadvantage of living a block from the university campus was not having to own a car, but he actually didn't have the spare cash to blow on a cab, and January winter was icy to a degree of maliciousness. They could take the subway, technically, but Toph didn't like that. She'd gotten lost on it once, a bad experience not least for Sokka, who'd missed a seminar to spend a terrified four hours looking for her.

"Well..." he offered, deadpan, "there's always Katara?"

A pause, and then, simultaneously, "_No_," they both agreed, before laughing softly. A brief instant of silence shivered through the room, before Toph shivered suddenly, tugging her sweatshirt tighter around herself. "Damn," she muttered, "is it just me or is it cold in here?"

It took a moment for it to sink in, and then both their faces paled in horror. "Toph," said Sokka weakly, "who pays the heating bill?"

"I believe," she mumbled, jaw slack, "it's both of us."

"…Did _you_ remember it?"

* * *

Ten o'clock found them both sprawled across the couch. A flashlight, the only source of light, threw veiled shadows as Toph huddled half on top of Sokka, shivering inside her five or so layers of fleece. "This is so unfair," she muttered. "God, I think you're entirely blubber, Sokka—and I do mean including your head."

He took a slow breath of cold, crisp winter air. "Shut up and eat your pasta, Toph."

She speared a forkful of Chef Boyardee with a vengeance, lifting it halfway to her mouth and then pausing, jabbing it suddenly at him. Sokka yelped and dodged as she speculated, "This would be a lot better if we could microwave it. That would just be peachy—you know, _if someone had paid the electricity bill._"

"I hate you."

She slurped up the forkful of pasta and then wriggled closer to him, clutching his arm around her shoulders. "Damn you and your body heat," she muttered, and then, "I hate you too, Sokka."

He shrugged in acceptance and squeezed her shoulder absently, scooping up another spoonful of cold baked beans.

* * *

**In which Toph and Sokka learn the downside with pissing off all their friends. It's rambly, and random-ish, and late. I know. Updates are gonna be sketchy, I'm afraid. Dark times are ahead... but don't underestimate the power of *reviews* ;)**

_****AND ON A FUN NOTE!****_**  
**

**I've been invited to a contest where the premise is writing a Tokka fic that's loosely the plot of a movie, with one scene recognizably spoofed. I'm thinking—loosely:**

**-Pirates of the Caribbean (um, the first one. Duh)**

**-Or actually anything with Johnny Depp  
**

**-Or something anime/-ated, as I am a geek for that**

**...But am open to... no, scratch that. REQUESTING suggestions. So please do drop a review if you have an idea/request/anything, really; I'd love to hear it ^_^ Thanks, guys!  
**


	48. Flow

**#88. Flow**

**It's way too fun writing about Toph as a musician... probably because whatever she does, she's gotta be the best at it ;) Apologies in advance for the language—it's just part of Sokka's voice (in this universe, anyways.)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

**

* * *

**

See, here's the thing—he don't play music or nothing, right? He ain't artsy. That's girl stuff, playing the violin and crap. Hell, if he was gonna play anything, he'd play the guitar, right? That's cool. You can be pretty hot shit if you play that one right, and he kinda likes the idea of lying stretched out lazy-cat-style on the sofa, back propped on the arm, screwing around on a Strat. He'd have a cigarette hanging outta his mouth, right, half-burned down, glowing like a heartbeat as he breathes in and out.

Yeah. That's cool.

This ain't cool.

It's a whole hell of uncool, come to that, that he's gotta be here, but family means you gotta chip in, and his mom's outta the picture—last he heard, California, finally modeling or some shit—so if his dad says to pick up his little sister, then he's damn well gonna do it. Ain't like it's so bad. Ain't like he's gonna know no one here.

_Right_.

He shoots a look right, left. Goddamn, he _hates_ this fricking building. They got Katara into lessons because the teacher's tight with his dad—but they just gotta have class halfway across the frigging city. No, worse—they gotta have it in a _prep school_. He thinks Katara's lucky he's so awesome, because if she wasn't, no way in _hell_ he'd be hauling ass down here—six P.M., Friday afternoon—for anything.

He ambles up the steps, eyeing himself lazily in the glass doors. Building's all brick and glass and shit, huge and ugly, and he don't really fit in here. C'mon, he's got jeans too big on purpose, oversized sweatshirt; the sides of his head are shaved, for Chrissake. He's not even close to badass in his neighborhood, not with some of the shit kids pull there, but here he's like frigging _Satan_ or something.

He yanks open the door. Couple'a girls in Abercrombie and Fitch, 'bout his age, shoot him a look and then stare away, like he's gonna eat 'em or something. He saunters by and hears them whispering as he goes, soft hisses, the kind that follow him pretty much anywhere he goes. Shit, don't they get that he's just getting by? Dress in Abercrombie in his apartment block, you'd last all of fifteen seconds until shit happened. _Bad _shit.

It was either third door on the right or left, and the girls are heading right so he turns left, because hell, he knows they're just kids too, but he hates the way they look at him. Ain't like he don't already know he don't belong here, all right? Jesus.

So: preppy building, bitchy girls, whole badass-times-a-thousand thing—he's feeling pretty hardcore right now.

Then he hears it.

Piano.

Someone's running scales so fast, it's like there's a pair a' hamsters on crack just booking it up and down the piano. Damn, Katara's supposed to be gifted and crap, and she can't play that fast. He frowns and then turns the corner, following the sound. _Fricking practice rooms are supposed to be soundproof_, he grouches inwardly, but as he looks down the hall, he sees that that ain't the problem. Some bastard just left the door open.

He thinks, _I'll_ _close it_, and then finds abruptly that he doesn't want to.

Because the scales stop, and then after a second someone cracks their knuckles like gunfire—he tries not to flinch, but _damn_, that's nasty—and then they start to play.

God, he ain't _never_ heard music like this.

It's like… shit, he can't even explain it. He wishes now he's paid better attention in English. School kinda sucks where he goes, but he's cool with science, right; that'll get him into college. Arts—nah, arts don't get you nowhere. He ain't _artsy_.

But the _music_…

It's like a bird. Sort of. Not entirely, but the way it rises and falls—and then it'll stop, just in place for a moment, and kinda trill… and at the same time it's water, like a river, driving pulses underneath pushing forward, and then it breaks through, bursts out rolling all on top of itself into a still, calm moment—

He don't even realize he's standing right outside the half-open door until he's been there at least a minute, just listening. Hell, he don't know what he's doing, but he can't even help it—he needs to know who this is, who's playing this shit, because he ain't never heard nothing like it. He holds his breath, edges his gaze around to peer around the doorframe.

It's a girl—a little one, and he almost thinks she's an actual kid for a second until he gives her a closer look. She's got long hair, same shiny black as the piano, and her fingers, thin and about as white as they come, look just like the keys. They're moving so fast he can barely even see 'em, but they know exactly what they're doing. Even her feet are working, banging up and down on the pedals like she's dancing to her music. Crap, her whole body's going, he realizes, back arching with the music as it swells, and when she goes high or low she leans in, hunching over the keys with a kind of intensity in her he can't really explain. It's like every inch of her is tense, raw electricity, and she's just banging it out. _Shit_, he realizes after a second, staring at her, _she ain't even got no music—she just _knows_ it_. That's crazy. She's so into it, just throwing her whole self into that song…

_It's kind of hot_, he thinks, and suddenly he's sort of pissed at himself. Somehow that one stupid thought's just screwed this up somehow, like all of a sudden he's not really listening, he's just going all perv on this pianist-chick while she's trying to practice. He pulls away, and tells himself to start walking. He's here for a reason, ain't he? Right. Katara. Little sis who's gonna bitch at him for the whole fricking ride home if he's late—?

Then, suddenly, the music stops behind him. He stiffens, and then two hands slam down on the keys, the notes clanging against each other, and after the music the clash is almost painful to hear. A groan explodes from the girl, underwritten with frustration, and then the lid slams on the piano keys.

_Shit,_ he thinks, _she's coming, shit, Sokka, play it cool…_

But she doesn't come right away. There's a pause, and then a tapping noise he can't place. In spite'a himself, he stops and sneaks a look towards the door.

A white cane leads the way out the door, with her following behind. She turns, gropes a couple times for the doorknob, and then shuffles away down the hall. He don't even know he's holding his breath until she's all the way gone.

_God fricking damn_, he thinks slowly. _She's blind.

* * *

_

See, and what sucks now is how hard he tried to play it cool. He wussed; he coulda just called after her, "Hey, I heard you playing, you're awesome," and he didn't. _She wouldn'ta even known you didn't belong_, he thought afterward, kicking himself for it, _because if she can't see she don't know nothing about you, she ain't gonna judge you, all right?_

But he didn't say anything, and he don't know if she noticed him or not, but either way he beat it, grabbed Katara and went. He was outta there, right? Jesus Christ, he shouldn'ta been there in the first place if he's being honest.

God, he tried _so fricking hard_ and everything.

But somehow he's still sitting outside the practice room door, like he does every Friday afternoon from five-thirty to six—sometimes Katara runs late and he gets fifteen minutes extra; he always bitches at her for making him wait, but doesn't mean any of it—and he's listening to the girl play. He knows her pieces from each other by now, and he knows she's always there before he arrives, banging out her scales and arpeggios (see, he asked Katara the word and everything). He knows she always starts with the slow song, because in the fast one she always breaks off eventually and curses under her breath before slamming the piano shut. Most days she's still there when he leaves, but sometimes she storms out like the first day, and he's gotta be careful not to get caught.

He figures he's being pretty stealth about it—though maybe it helps that she's blind—because he knows exactly how uncool this is, and is totally aware that if the guys ever found out about it, they'd never let him live it down, but he's sort of stopped caring. He kinda thinks he'd maybe want to play the piano, not the guitar.

He's gotta do something about this.

He could totally bump into her, all casual, just be all, "Hey, I'm Sokka—you here to play? Nah, I don't, but my sister does… Piano? Oh, that's cool, that's cool…"

He's not that slick in real life. Least he knows it.

It's so stupid to be caught up in this. So uncool.

Clearly.

But…

But he's caught up in a moment, interrupted mid-step, dragged out of the easy rhythm of his everyday life when he's listening to her play, and it's like when she hesitates just before the next note—he knows what's coming, even if he doesn't know shit about music, but she holds the silence for a moment just to keep him on edge, and she's holding him the same way. He's caught in between one moment and the next, and he doesn't know what to do.

It's six o' clock. Katara's gonna be waiting. He's gonna leave, like he does every day. He can't move forward or back, can't man up and can't forget about it. He looks up and down the empty hall and thinks he'd better go.

The keys thump suddenly, ferociously in the room behind him. Sokka jumps, and the cover slams down against the keys and she spins for the door. He jumps up, trying to find an exit that'll be quiet but get him the hell outta there at the same time…

She's got her cane, but it's not doing anything, really, and he looks at her and sees her shove the door open, and then her loose shoelace flopping innocently against the ground…

Everything happens very slowly.

She trips.

He lunges.

He's got his arms around her, and he's standing there in the middle of an empty hall holding her awkwardly under her arms, staring down at her face. Her eyes are like glass, like marbles, and… shit, he doesn't know how to describe them any more than her music, but he didn't mean it like _that_. He's never seen eyes like hers. She's frozen, breathing fast, and then suddenly her face contorts.

"What the hell?" she demands, struggling away. "Get off!" She shoves him away, and her knees comes up; Sokka twists and just dodges, lets her go quickly before she actually does get a hit in. "Who are you?" she spits, backing into the wall, spreading her hands back against. She looks freaked… _oh, shit_, he thinks, _she's gotta think you're a rapist or something… god_damn_it…_

"I'm sorry," he says quickly, "I'm sorry, Christ, I didn't mean to scare you, I was just passing by and… and you play really well… and…"

"You were _listening_ to me?" she hisses. "What?"

"No!" he lies. "No, walking past, is all, I heard you, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I'll go."

She inhales slowly, shakily. "No," she says. "No, I'm just… just didn't see it coming. It's my fault." There's a pause, and she opens her mouth to speak and then closes it. He hesitates, and then reaches down, picking up her cane and offering it to her uncertainly.

"You looking for this?"

Her eyes narrow. "Looking for _what_?"

"Sorry," he says again, "this," and reaches out, places it gently under her fingertips. She pauses, examining it, and then grips it tightly. "Thanks," she mutters.

"No problem." He grits his teeth, pauses, and then without meaning blurts, "But really, I mean, you're really good."

Her forehead crinkles. "Thanks," she deadpans. "I know." She bites her lips for a moment, fingers flexing and relaxing against her cane, and then inquires, "Um… do I know you?"

"Oh—no," he replies. "No, I don't… I don't play, or anything. I'm just here to get my sister."

"Oh." She shifts, nods. "Right."

Watching her nervously—damn, did he said something stupid already?—he realizes her cheeks have gone slightly red. "Why?" he asks, after a second.

She shrugs. "I… little embarrassing, I guess," she admits. "Falling on top of a stranger."

_If you were waiting for the right moment_… throws in his subconscious all-too-meaningfully. His mouth falls open and words fall out, without any permission from his mind but still perfectly timed. "Okay," he answers coolly. "Hi, I'm Sokka."

The girl blinks and than laughs, a little incredulous and mostly—he's gonna tell himself, anyway—impressed by what he said, seeing as it's the first thing he's said so far that hasn't made him want to shoot himself. "Toph," she replies, grinning. "Cool to meet ya."

"Same here. And," he adds, still riding his wave of _I-made-her-smile _glory, "I think I caught you, actually."

Toph arches an eyebrow. "Oh? Hey, don't give yourself too much credit, now."

He smirks. "Too much credit? Do I have this wrong: I walk down a hallway"—not _completely_ true, but who's keeping track?—"and pretty girls fall into my arms?"

It's gotta be wrong how happy he is to see her blush at that. "Jesus," she said, "sounds like I've made your week there."

"Little bit," he shrugs, before his brain can intercept the comment. Toph laughs.

"I've got to go," she says. "You… do you come here a lot?"

"Fridays," he shrugs, all cool, all offhand. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," she says, turning. "Guess I'll see you around, then."

He watches her walk away with this massive, retarded grin on his face that he can't do a thing about, and no matter how chill he came off in the end of that conversation, he knows he couldn't be more uncool right now. But still.

He's not stuck any more. The silence is over; the hand's kept him there suspended long enough, and it's finally fallen to hit the next note.

And it's the right one.

Katara asks why he's grinning like that when he finally finds her by the exit. "Nothing," he says, and keeps smiling the entire walk to the car.

* * *

**Sooooo much longer than I intended, haha. But yeah. Flow referring to (a) the music, (b) Sokka's little monologues, and (c) the way he talks X) Which was fun... um. Apologies for the swearing, there...**

**Thank you so much for the suggestions! You guys are AMAZING, seriously. As of now, I'm going with PotC (so kudos to everyone who supported that idea) and thanks to everyone else—I've got a year's worth of anime and Johnny Depp I've got to watch right now, so you all are officially the coolest readers every ^_^**

**So, coolest readers ever, one final question. If Sokka = Jack Sparrow, and Toph = Elizabeth (and never fear, it IS a Tokka story, if a roundabout one) then is Will Turner Zuko (meaning, Tokka/Toko semi-love-triangle?) or Aang (same deal... but with Taang?)**

**You decide... and feel free to drop me a review while you're at it!  
**


	49. Seizure

**#99. Seizure**

**Rarely will I forcibly recommend things to you, my dear readers. Your opinion on whatever is yours, and that's cool (unless it's Zutara, Twilight, or Biebs, but I'm not gonna go there, because Monday nights are not ranting nights.)**

**So. Rarely. But goddammit, go Google the poem '****For Eli****' by Andrea Gibson. I don't even like poetry very much, and it gives me chills. Don't care if you're American or not, what you think about the war in Iraq—just go read it. Seriously.  
**

**Okay. Done. Rant over. Enjoy.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

* * *

**

**Eli came back from Iraq  
and tattooed a teddy bear onto the inside of his wrist  
above that a medic with an IV bag  
above that an angel  
but Eli says the teddy bear won't live  
and I know I don't know but I say, "I know"  
cause Eli's only twenty-four and I've never seen eyes  
further away from childhood than his…**

—**from '****For Eli****', by Andrea Gibson

* * *

**

Three-fifteen in the morning. A little shudder of moonlight falls across his face. He's standing in the living room. The basement is downstairs.

The door is open. He stares down into it, stares at the gaping mouth, the stairs inviting him into the blackness. He's very very cold and that's not just the temperature because it's warm outside. It's hot in fact, for the Earth Kingdom, but now that he's spent so much time in hot place it always feels cold anyway.

He twists the cord in his hands and shivers. It's physical, not emotional. He's not scared—well, either he's not scared at all or he's frigging terrified, but if the latter's the case then he's always like that, so no big deal. It's probably that, because he is scared, he thinks. Somewhere under the cold, he's scared. He's scared of so many things now, suspicious of so many more. He doesn't understand anything any more.

Before, he thought he understood lots of things. One of them was war.

He thought he was an adult. Maybe he'd always thought it; maybe he'd been fed the conviction and maybe he'd just written himself into the role as he grew and became the voice of reason. He thought he knew how to fight and that was war, wasn't it, fighting?

He didn't know. Children that build castles in sandboxes and say they're kings, that's what they were, and he thought because danger followed he knew danger, because he'd been hurt he knew pain. He thought war was a game that you won, a big elaborate game where you could follow the rules and put clever moves together and cut your losses and win at the end just by being smart. He saw generals pushing little pieces around a map and thought _I can do that_, thought it was easy, thought he'd already learned this.

His hair is long again. He won't cut it. Katara tells him to but he won't he won't he won't, and he needs it to hide his face, and he needs it because to not feel the weight of it is to feel the blow of the moment where he ran a hand across his all-but-shaven head and understood he was no longer Sokka but one of thousands. What happened to being the elite rebel force? What happened to the glamour of it, the friends, the flying around on a bison and sightseeing and eager-eyed plotting as they skimmed mountains with watercolor sunsets behind them?

And he thought it'd get better because it always did, because he knew this and they would see that soon. They'd put him somewhere better. He deserved somewhere better. It took him months to understand that life wasn't tailor-made anymore, you stupid sonofabitch, and he was sure as hell gonna suck it up, because he wasn't gonna last five minutes otherwise, and was he listening? He was going to die. He was going to die.

Why did he never think about dying before? Because they knew that they were kids and people don't kill kids in a war. Wasn't it obvious? Nobody kills children. Nobody's like that. People are good.

It's not true. It's not true and he won't believe it when he comes home and they say _trust me_ and _we love you, Sokka_ because it isn't true and they wouldn't even dream of it if they'd been there. You can't love because love is vulnerable and vulnerable is dead, and why the hell don't they get it, why the hell don't they understand? War doesn't fix. War isn't honorable, eye for eye, tooth for tooth; war is kill or be killed, and when you tear it all away isn't it true that everyone kills when they have to?

He used not to believe it. He convinced himself he'd fight the machine, that he was Sokka and didn't they know? He was a hero. _Sokka_. Two k's. They hadn't heard of him? Because it wasn't like it was a common name, or anything. Lee, he could understand Lee, but there aren't _that_ many Sokkas.

His first bunkmate was Kiru Parika from the Earth Kingdom. Kiru was red-haired and bucktoothed, with a faint backwater twang to his voice. His eyes were pale and watery, and he smiled often. He had a little brother and sister. His girlfriend had green eyes and they were getting married when he got home. Kiru never took off the ring, never, got told he'd only lose it and still wore it every day.

The ring was still on Kiru's finger when he stepped on the Fire Nation mine. It rained ash and fire for a moment and then the ground was dark red like someone had cried crimson ink across the dusty earth. The fiancée never got a body back. Now Sokka closes his eyes and sees Kiru with reddish hair and a toothy sideways grin, saying _here, wait, Sokka, I think I hear something up ahead_.

The worst part is how he honestly thought he'd toughened, really truly deeply been sure that he was mature before. But that's not true. You never stop being a kid until someone takes the spark in your eyes and throws it on the ground and stomps on it, right in front of you, mangles it and then kicks it back at your feet and turns away. Only time you're ever whole is when you're a kid. Someday someone's going to break you, and you'll spend the rest of your life trying to find the pieces they scattered into the wind so you can put yourself back together.

You don't mend. You patch and paint over the holes and fray apart and he's fraying and falling and he thinks no one understands, no one sees. No one else knew Kiru Parika and no one else felt a spray of red splatter their face an instant after their bunkmate set down their booted foot for the last time. Sokka still feels it running down his cheeks and across his lips now, the taste of life gone like _that_.

What do you _do_ then? What, when there's no way you could have known and nothing you can do but so much you should have done anyway? And then he's gone in an instant of flame and he might never have been here and you'll never see him again, never, not his lopsided bucktoothed grin or his runny nose or any of it. _How?_

He came home and he was empty. There was something missing from his eyes, something shattered inside that he'd curled around to protect the pieces. His face was new and older, his body white-slash scarred, something _Spirits why me_ frozen in his face. They can try to talk and to listen, but they don't listen when he needs to speak and they're never there when he wants them. He's always alone when it's three A.M. and he's lying facedown on the bed with shadows whispering in his ears.

Maybe this is the only way.

Three-thirty. The clock chimes mutedly from the hall behind him. Three-thirty. He twists the rope in his hands. It's strong enough, he thinks. Stronger than him. That's as strong as it needs to be.

He takes a step towards the basement stairs. He can't do it here. He's courteous. Oh, you can laugh, but he's going to do this right, dammit. It's about time he did something right. Another step. Lift your foot, put it down—left, right, left, right. He's done this enough.

"Sokka?"

He hears her voice from behind him. His shoulders spasm forward, and he freezes in place, halfway to the yawning doorway. Halfway feels damn close anyway.

"Sokka?" she repeats. "Is that you?"

He hears her feet pad slowly down the stairs. "It's me," she says. "I had a bad dream. That you? Did you have one too?"

She reaches the bottom of the stairs and then stops sharply. He knows she's close enough, too close, knows she's seen it. He twists the rope in his hands and it's a loop, just big enough for his head to fit through.

"Oh, Spirits," she whispers, voice dangerously close to breaking. "Sokka, what the—?"

"Please," he breathes, not looking back. "Please." He doesn't know if he's begging her to leave or to stop him. She twists her foot against the stone floor and he knows it's her version of blinking, of not wanting to believe her eyes.

"Don't," she says in a voice that quivers. "Sokka, you can't. We love you, Sokka."

"Please," he repeats. "Please stop it."

"I won't let you," she says, meaning to sound braver than she does, and starts forward. At last he turns to look at her with marble eyes. She has her green and white quilt still wrapped around her shoulders. She looks so little.

She's only three years younger than him, though.

She grabs hold of the rope and he lets it slip through his fingers. She trembles, fingers flexing and relaxing against the noose, and then seems to jolt back to herself and drops it frantically. A shivering breath slips between her teeth and then she lunges forward. Her punch catches him in the stomach; he doubles over, wheezing, and barely knows what's happening until she wraps her arms around him as he straightens. The blanket slips with a little _shush_ of fabric from her shoulders to the floor.

"Shit," she mumbles, her face in his shoulder. "Spirits, don't scare me like that—Sokka, what the hell are you thinking?" Her voice is rising, suddenly jarring and uncomfortably penetrating, driving straight through him into his heart. "I don't know what to say," she blurts. "I know I don't understand, but I… I just want to help." She breathes in deeply. "Sokka," she says, "please, I love you. _Sokka_."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, not quite sure what statement it's a response to, because in the end he's a little bit sorry for both. She can't tell him those things; goddammit, what will he say? He doesn't think he loves anyone. He doesn't remember.

But it's three-forty-five, and the moment's passed him by, and what he wants now is for her to stop crying. Even though he rarely thinks about the rest of them, he knows it's wrong for Toph to cry. He lifts his arms slowly and wraps them around her lightly shaking shoulders, and maybe it's enough to hear her inhale loudly and swallow the tears for his sake.

He doesn't love anyone, but he thinks maybe if he did, it would be Toph.

* * *

**Seizure [n.]: a breakdown  
-**_**Seize**_**: to resort to a method, no matter how risky**

**Shut up. It works.**

**Oh—and are you kidding me? OVER 400 FREAKIN' REVIEWS? For a oneshot collection for a mostly-dead fanbase? *dies a little death of joy* You guys are phenomenal. Seriously. So thanks to everyone for absolutely making my year ^_^  
**


	50. Eyes

**#52. Eyes**

**Five times Suki doesn't get it, and the moment that she does.

* * *

**

She's swimming, arms scything through the water, leggings and tunic barely even noticeable after the bitch that the Kyoshi robes are for swimming in. She's breathing rhythmic and efficient a machine, because when it all boils down to it, that's just what she is: a machine, created and trained and sculpted for just this purpose. She gasps against the waves, forcing herself not to feel the cold, and ducks down under into the thick, churning sea.

She can't think why there's this conviction water's blue. Sure, when you're looking from the right angle, on the right kind of day, you'd think, but now? Right now it's greenish-brown, champagne bubbles darting like shoals of fish across her vision. Eyes narrowing against the sting of salt water, she gives her vision no time to adjust. In front of her is nothing but foggy, muddy green, and below her too, coruscating shafts of sunlight lost in the ocean's murky depths. Goddamn it, Toph was right here—

And just as panic, which she's tried so hard to fight off, is swelling in the pit of her stomach, she sees the little girl. She's falling like a doll in slow motion, rays of broken sunlight playing off her china skin, dark hair twisting in her wake like diluting ink. Her eyes are like chunks of glass, clouded and dimming.

Suki kicks, Suki lunges, Suki grabs the little china hand and yanks, and with lungs shrieking for air she breaks the surface. Toph blinks and drags in a gasp that wracks her entire frame.

Abruptly, her grip on Suki's shoulders tightens. "Oh, Sokka!" she exclaims. "You saved me!"

And cold, salty lips collide with Suki's cheek out of nowhere. "Um," the warrior says, an awkward little smile on her face. "It's me."

"...Oh." The girl's face… falls? Pales? Collapses? "Um," she breathes, reddening. "You can go ahead and let me drown now."

Now they're both already soaked? Not a chance in hell. Suki smiles, remembers that that does exactly _nothing_ to make this particular person feel better, and then chuckles reassuringly, a beat later, a hint too forced. Shore can't come soon enough.

Sokka—wearing one boot still; the other lies forlornly discarded a few feet away—helps Toph out, and the girl looks more like a doll than ever, wrapped up inside his arms that are dark against her pale cheeks. He pulls her against his chest, demanding to know if she's all right, and Suki reminds herself sharply that a little girl's just a little girl, and she can get out of the water on her own anyway.

The second time is a long time later—she spent a long time away from the rest of them, and then she was in jail and the days all started bleed together. She doesn't think there's any way to explain the feeling of seeing him again—it's like describing summer to someone who's always live at the North Pole, or color to a blind girl. She tried hard not to cry, but it was hard, and Spirits, by the time she got back she only had eyes for the boy-turned-warrior who was finally a hero like he wanted.

So why the hell _would_ she notice a little girl who maybe wasn't quite so little as before? The girl still looked like a doll, china-fragile, and it was really no wonder Sokka tried to protect her. Not even that, really—she just clung to him, and what was Suki's boyfriend supposed to do? Toph was just a kid.

But one moment she really remembers—one of a few, because let's face it: war blurs things, and there's stuff you don't _want_ to remember afterwards—is that one horrible night on the islands when Zuko walked in on Sokka. Suki can only thank the Spirits he when he did, because ten minutes later and all three of them would have needed therapy. As it was, she watched Zuko leave the tent, waiting for him to be _long_ gone before she even dared come out into the open.

After that it went without saying that neither of them was in the mood—Sokka yelped, actually _yelped_, when she walked in, and the octave he could hit really wasn't that much of a turn-on—but she curled up under his blankets, enjoying the warmth of his arms around her, the muscles of his chest and stomach pressed against her back. Two layers of fabric wasn't that much, and he'd sure as hell matured.

"It could have been worse," she reassured him, a laugh bubbling in her voice. "I mean, Zuko's older than us, he gets it. Can you imagine if it had been someone like… like—"

"Aang?" he offers, at the same time she finishes, "Toph?"

She doesn't think that the name was an experiment, but looking back, she's not entirely sure. As it is, Sokka stiffened; he tried to hide it, but with every inch of them pressed together, it was an effort doomed to failure. He laughed weakly to cover it up. "Damn," he said slowly, and she felt his hands clenching around hers. A different person—one who didn't see with her eyes—would have noticed his heartbeat skipping, but he was, at least, spared her noticing that detail. "That'd be… embarrassing." A pause, and then, "But… Toph wouldn't see anything, would she? At least, not by…"

He trailed off, and suddenly the revelation that had just hit him caught Suki in the stomach. "_Kyoshi_," she cursed in horror. "You don't think she can… see us?"

Screw Zuko—there had _never_ been a buzz-kill like that. Suki's probably still a freaking virgin because of that little girl, without any effort at all on Toph's part.

Time passed. They would up on Ember Island and someone had the stupid idea to go see that godforsaken play. Honestly, at least the girl who played her hadn't looked too bad, but that was the _only_ bright side. She'd known that being in a relationship with Sokka was going to mean a little lenience, namely in regard to humor, but it was worse than that. She wouldn't have taken the play personally—wasn't like it struck any real blows to her ego, at least—but it was the scene with Yue that got under her skin. That Sokka had had the guts to _shush_ her… the play wasn't even freaking realistic!

But what really hurt wasn't the shush, though. She could live with shushing, even if she hadn't meant anything by a playful comment, even if it was a stupid play to begin with. It was the way he looked at the scene: not the girl who played Yue, even, but the whole damn scene itself. It was the same way he looked at the moon, and there was something sharp and bittersweet in his eyes, adult and innocent at the same time. It was a kind of light in his whole face, something that defied words and that she understood perfectly.

She couldn't explain it but to say that she knew—didn't want to know, and knew anyway, even if he didn't—that she'd only once or twice been the target of that look, and that once or twice would never be enough for either of them.

So she'd swallowed her hurt, and let him drape an arm around her as the play went on. They had sat in silence for a while, and at last he said, almost not to her, "It… I can't believe they made Toph a boy."

She shrugged. The potential for a nasty response was almost horrifying, but she liked Toph, and there was nothing behind the question but an observation, right? "Well, yeah," she agreed. "But Aang is a girl, right?"

"Yeah, but…" He trailed off. "It's different," he said finally. "I mean, she's not…" His jaw worked silently for a moment, and then he broke off. "Sorry," he muttered. "Don't know where I was going with that."

"Don't worry," she replied, and squeezed his hand.

He looked at her, and he was happy, but the look she'd seen before wasn't there. _Content_, she thought, and the word twisted inside her. He was content. He didn't even know it, but if—_when_, she knew, _when_ was the only real question—he ever realized it, then_ content_ was never going to be enough.

So he just had never to realize, right?

Spirits, it sounded so selfish, so horrible, but it wasn't so bad, was it? Content was a kind of happy, and she loved him, and goddamnit, she didn't want to lose him. Plenty of people lived out their lives content and never minded. They were good enough, weren't they? Content was a picket fence and two kids, comfortable silences as they sat next to each other on the porch. Content was resilient. They'd manage—wouldn't they?

The fourth moment was the airships. She didn't watch it, not really, just heard it later, but she knew what had happened. She'd seen them hanging and then the crash, and as it finished she'd run up top to find them a tangle of limbs, him holding her like he'd never let her go again. The only thing he seemed to know was this little girl in his arms, a little china doll singed around the edges, and his eyes were closed and there was a sheen of tears across his cheek. Even when Suki walked up—after a pause, wondering if she should even interrupt—and hugged him, and Toph too, it wasn't quite the same, and he pulled away from her after a second, grimacing, reaching for his broken ankle that he'd finally noticed.

And perhaps she ought to have noticed when Ozai was on the ground and they were laughing, trading insults like they were poker players, slamming hands on the table. How could he possibly look so happy, there with his broken ankle, barely conscious on his crutches and still grinning because Toph could always make him laugh. Suki had tried to join in and couldn't, and Spirits, never mind if Toph was just a kid, she'd wanted to rip that little bitch's tongue out when the earthbender had rolled her eyes at her like that. "Honey," she'd drawled, flicking her bangs with a toss of her head, "leave the insults to us."

Honey. _Honey_, she'd said. Suddenly something snapped, and Suki realized that in fact she didn't like Toph, not at all, not even if she was just a little girl. _Shut up, _she had wanted to scream at that little brat, _shut up and leave me alone, you can't take him_, but it wouldn't have made a difference. Sokka was laughing. Sokka was laughing at her, and it wasn't fair: Suki had only tried the best she could. All she wanted was for him to smile at her for a moment the same way he smiled at Toph—all she needed was a moment, an instant, of something more than _content._

She smiled, taking defeat with all the effing grace she could muster. _Be happy_, she reminded herself._ It's a happy day._

She's even worse at lying than she is at insults.

But she's not at all bad at hiding behind half-truths, ducking under the cover of memory and a little twisted perception, and so it's almost hilarious how it can still hit her out of nowhere, after everything, and sucker-punch her breath away.

They're in the teashop. It's beautiful, the warm ribbons of conversation that wind through the air, the enveloping fragrance of tea leaves and soft lull of breaking evening in Ba Sing Se. They're sitting at the table, and Aang and Zuko are both playing Pai Sho, and Katara and Mai are trying _far_ too hard to pretend they're not into it, but Suki can practically taste the antagonism from where she's sitting. Still, it's dulled by the spice of the ginger tea, burning her tongue ever so slightly as she takes a sip from the beautiful china cups.

Beside her, Sokka is fiercely attempting to hone artistic talent He's scribbled Aang, and Katara is slapdash at best, twin sausagelike lumps on the sides of her head—_hair loopies!_ he protests when she dares ask. Mai's unmistakable, but it's hard to distinguish any actual features among the splotched black hair and robes, and Zuko's scar looks like he got mauled by a platypus-bear. He's even drawn her, Suki notes, Kyoshi robes and all, holding a triangular something which—she'll give him the benefit of the doubt here—is _probably_ a fan.

He starts on Toph and, quite suddenly, Suki sees it.

And it's not that his Toph is beautiful, not that he's improved, not even that he can draw her hair without it looking like a helmet, but his face as he works. His tongue pokes out past the rim of his teeth, and his eyebrows furrow together, and Suki can see something sharp and bittersweet in his eyes, adult and innocent at the same time.

_He's just trying to make it look good_, she thinks weakly. _He wants to impress Toph._

And then she remembers.

Toph'll never see this picture.

And he's still hunched over, desperate determination in the set of his jaw, an indefinable light that's suddenly broken like sunrise across his face.

Suki wants to cry.

She stares across the teashop at a little blind girl who's helping Zuko cheat at Pai Sho just to annoy Katara, and knows it's so desperately unfair. Does that stupid girl—and she isn't little, clearly, little girls don't know how to hurt anyone like she's hurting Suki—even know what she's doing? Is she even aware, as she flicks a lotus tile two squares down and left, that Sokka's laboring over the lines her china doll face and her wide glass eyes? Because Suki knows that this girl will never understand, never know what it means to settle for content.

What the hell has she done to deserve this? When in her life has she earned this right—what act of karma's decided that she should have the only thing Suki wants? She's an effing prodigy, and Suki's worked six hours a day, every day since she was ten years old, just to keep up. Suki does her hair and puts on makeup and holds on like a little girl trying to catch a butterfly in her hands, but Toph's reeling Sokka away from her stretching fingertips and neither of them even sees it. How is it that he doesn't know, and she suddenly understands that content will never be enough, and _she'll_ never be the right one?

Probably for the same reason that she can sit here, all her effort spent trying to pretend her heart's not one big jagged effing fault line, and he can not even notice, too busy trying to get the curve of Toph's pale fingers right.

Suki takes another sip of tea and doesn't taste it over the bitterness on her tongue.

* * *

**I don't know how on earth this got so long. Or, for that matter, how I can sustain any sympathy for Suki for more than a single sentence. Occurred to me that she's my go-to random-passerby-punching-bag** so I figured one oneshot about her where she _wasn't_ was worth a try. Besides, seeing as _obviously_ Tokka is meant to be, you can't help but wonder how Sokka's _other_ love interest feels about that, right?**

**Reviews are always appreciated!

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**

****Well, besides Katara, Zutara, and Twilight, but I've already been nice to Katara (once. Definitely once) and Zutara I am being tactfully silent about (because those Zutarians are _scary_ when they're mad) and when I find a redeeming feature of Twilight, I will sure as hell try to be nice about that too.

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**

**Oh. Right.**

**_FIFTIETH CHAPTER = HALFWAY THERE!_  
**


	51. Weather

**#17. Weather**

**I have no comment on my opinions about flowers.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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She stood behind the counter, watching the boys with hands deep and awkward in their pockets as they stood by the displays of flowers. Each had the same face, agonizing, torn between the variant shades of scarlet that in the context of roses carried deeply different sentiments. It was quite a lot to ask of any boys to understand anything in the context of flowers, and she had used to have a good amount of respect for all the boys who came in here looking for a gift.

Until, that was, she heard an altogether unpleasant conversation between a couple of her friends who'd temporarily forgotten she was a _girl_, about how they were getting roses for their girlfriends for the three-month anniversary, for Valentine's Day, for her birthday, because forty dollars a dozen was a cheap enough price to pay to score with _that_.

After that, roses lost a little bit of their magic.

Meng sighed, adjusted one of her braids, and shot another dark look at the boys lining the walls of the florist shop. By now she could practically trace their routes without looking up from her book. There was the cheerful tinkle of the bell as they opened the door, and then invariably heavy footsteps trudge—usually hesitating by the gerbera daisies—into the shop. They'll always make for the roses, plodding anxiously back and forth along the aisle of flowers, and at last either select a bouquet or—more likely—saunter all casual-like over to her, lean across the counter on one hand or even an elbow, and inquire, so cool, raising an eyebrow, if she could give them a female opinion as to what the best—_eyebrow quirk_—kind of flowers to get for a girl might be.

_Go with the roses_, she'd deadpan. Sometimes, before, he'd be cute and she'd flash him a little coy grin along with the line, and it wouldn't be delivered deadpan then, but cute and hopeful.

She'd used to really like that little bald boy who came in all the time. He was scrawny, but not in a bad way, and his smile lit up his whole face. Meng had liked him enough to tell him roses were good and all, but the panda lilies were beautiful this time of year. She'd sent him out with an armful of flowers and an ear-to-ear grin.

When he'd come back, again and again, she'd started to think there was something in it. What kind of boy came to a flower shop more than once a week? No, she started to know he came Monday afternoons—flowers on Monday night! How perfect did they come?—and then one day he waltzed in with an arm around that gorgeous brunette. Without a word he'd swept up a bouquet of panda lilies and flourished them at Meng without looking at her. "Two dozen, please," he said, beaming at the brunette.

Her eyes fixed to the counter, she rang them up quickly. "Happy birthday, Katara!" chirped the boy as he presented them to her, and then she kissed him, full-on, while Meng went red and averted her eyes until the pair was out of the door.

Goddammit. There went the bald kid—she'd seen the brunette's curves. And her hair… God, it looked _so_ effing _manageable!_

There was nothing more crushing, Meng was going to learn, than watching boys buy flowers for other girls all day long.

But it was a weekend in November and her aunt needed help with the shop, so this was what Meng was doing. It was what she did last weekend, too (and the weekend before that, and all summer, but she couldn't say that or it would just be pathetic.) It was half-raining, and all the boys who came in were squeaking around the shop in their fashion sneakers.

One of them had been there a long time. He thought he was being really stealthy, she knew, over there by the carnations, but she had noticed him a while ago. His hands were shoved timidly in the pockets of his Duke sweatshirt, but though he slouched he looked a bit taller than her. He glanced behind him, and she caught a glimpse of a slightly round face splattered with light cinnamon freckles. She could only see little tufts of sandy hair poking out from under his too-big knit hat, but he wasn't ugly or anything.

Not that she was looking. He wouldn't be buying flowers if he didn't have a girlfriend.

Fingers drumming aimlessly on the counter, she sighed again and rolled her eyes. _Still thirty minutes until closing time_, she thought, with a bleak glance out the front window. The little drops of rain condensed and ran together, squiggling across the expanse of windowpane before collapsing onto the sidewalk where she couldn't see. It felt like the rain was beating on her too, like she might as well be standing outside in the downpour.

Maybe it was because she was thinking that that she saw the girl. Small and pale, the little figure stalked across the sidewalk on the other side of the street, moving as a ghost through the rain. Like the rest of the world, she was faintly blurred around the edges by the storm, but Meng could see that she stops by the crosswalk and glanced—longingly?—over her shoulder, just for a moment.

Deliberately, the girl tramped across the street. She looked for all the world like a drowned cat: a slouch dragged at her shoulders; she walked hunched over into herself in her thin green jacket, rain plastering her black bangs to her face. Her jaw was set like concrete. Without knowing it, Meng could tell that she was cold but refused to shiver. _Poor girl_, she thought, surprising herself.

Then suddenly, just as she was looking, another figure sprinted down the sidewalk, skidding to a halt at the sidewalk corner. It was a boy of about the same age, maybe slightly older, struggling to yank on a blue raincoat as he ran. His eyes were fixed with an almost frightening intensity to the girl. Without pausing to look, he sprinted across the road, and Meng gasped aloud as he staggered just out of a car's path. His lips opened, though Meng heard no sound, and the girl—now on the sidewalk just outside the florist's shop—jumped and whirled in surprise. Meng saw her jaw drop open, her whole body tense, and then the boy reached the sidewalk.

He hunched over for a moment, hands on his knees, breathing hard. The girl leaned forward, taking hold of a piece of his wet brown hair between her two fingers; Meng watched her lips part to question him, her forehead wrinkling. The boy held up a hand, cutting off the question, and then straightened up. For the first time, both Meng and the girl realized he held something in his right hand.

Grinning hopefully, he held the umbrella out to her.

The girl stared down at it, almost in disbelief. Rubbing at the back of his head, the boy hiked a thumb over his shoulder. _You left it at home_, Meng saw him mumble shyly.

The girl's lips twitched, and then she broke into a full-fledged grin. _Thanks, _she replied, and her fist shot out as she accepted the umbrella, catching him in the arm. He flinched, rubbing at the new bruise, but it did nothing to wipe the smile off his face.

Abruptly he shrugged off the jacket, draping it around the already-soaked girl. She raised an eyebrow, plucking at her dripping t-shirt, and he shrugged, tugging the hood over her hair. _Keep it._

The girl rolled her eyes, and reached up to him, cuffing him light on the jaw. He caught her hand before she could pull away, however, and tugged her closer, pecking her on the lips. There was a moment's pause when he pulled away, anticipating, and then she grabbed his neck, yanking him back into the kiss. Slowly, his arms wound around her, and she let the hand with the umbrella fall to her side. Meng looked away, wide-eyed, a tiny, toothy smile that the flower shop rarely saw tickling the edges of her mouth.

"Excuse me?"

She jumped, head snapping around. The freckled boy who'd been standing by the carnations had approached the counter. He was biting his lip, and his hands were shoved deep into his sweatshirt pocket. "Um," he said. "Um… I was wondering if you could give me, like, an idea, or some help… um, what kind of flowers do you like?"

But Meng was looking out the window again, at the couple who had a moment ago parted ways: the boy heading back the way he'd come sans jacket and umbrella, the girl walking away with a faint grin on her face. They did not gaze into each other's eyes, clutching hands. He did not brush her wet hair out of her face, nor did he stare wistfully after her as she turned and set off down the sidewalk. They did not kiss again, this time for the Oscar, and as she turned and walked away, opening the umbrella, he did not go and buy her flowers—didn't even think about it.

After all, what good were flowers in the rain?

"Don't," Meng said, and he blinked quizzically at her. She had heard his 'you' as 'girls', and it suddenly hadn't mattered any more. "Not flowers," she amended, glancing back to him. "Girls don't really want flowers."

He tilted his head to the side. "You don't…?"

"No, not really." She shrugged, felt her cheeks flush a little, smiled shyly as she traced circles on the counter with her finger. Had she been looking more closely, she would have seen him going light pink under his freckles.

"Oh." He paused. "So what do… girls like, then?"

For a moment she stopped to consider, tapping her chin. "The thought," she decided finally. "The time they take to buy flowers." She hesitated. "Do you know what I mean?"

"That they care," he murmured slowly. "That's what you're saying?"

"Yeah," she breathed, "I think," and then looked away at the empty window, leaving the boy even more uncertain and a little bit more in love with her after their first conversation. Meng didn't notice yet. She was too distracted watching the window, the blurring cars like streaks of paint passing by in the wet street.

It wasn't flowers, really. It wasn't paying ten, or twenty, or even fifty dollars for a bouquet that really mattered. It was chasing someone into the rain with an umbrella. That was what people wanted, wasn't it? The caring—that was real. Meng knew—_God, did Meng know_—that it certainly wasn't there in everyone's case, so all she could do, she supposed, was wait for something like what she'd just seen.

Knowing that it was real, she was sure she could manage the waiting.

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****Shahrezad1—_Muke_. 'Tis all I will say... but I think you know what I mean ^_^**

**Moving on... corny? A tad bit. But merited, FOR A REASON.**

**Here's the thing.**

**Maybe some of you noticed that I marked '100' as complete, and maybe you didn't. Well, I did, and it's NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE. I'm putting my Tokka 100 on hold for a while—not because I don't love it, not because I'm out of ideas, not because you guys aren't awesome (you seriously are), but because I'm taking a break from the site for a while. **

**Anyone heard of NaNoWriMo? Well, it stands for National Novel Writing Month, and google it, because it's just been the inspiration I needed. I want to write my own real book (doesn't almost everyone on here?) and that's exactly the point of NaNoWriMo. You put writing on the front burner and write a 50,000 word story in one month—don't use any plots, just write and see what happens. And frankly, it's the best feeling in the world to do that. So from Thanksgiving break to New Year's, I'm working on that. If Stephanie Meyer can do it, _so can I_.  
**

**...Yes, that was necessary. But guys, I'm not abandoning 100. At #51? As-fricking-_if_. Updates are going to be... well, for lack of a better word, completely sporadic, but you better believe that I'm FAR from done.**

**So. Reviews—even ones where I get yelled at—are always, always appreciated!**


	52. Seasonal

**#14. Seasonal**

**It feels so _weird_ not writing Tokka any more! But before you start telling me I'm supposed to be writing a novel, this has been on my hard drive a while.**** Written for English class on a short story assignment at the start of December last year. And that's right, I kept it a year just to angst up your holidays. Original title was **_**Silver Bells**_**… yeah, just trust that it'll be relevant in a little while. And it wasn't the best friend originally, it was the parents and little sister (entire family, basically) but Tokka, ne?**

**By the way, Toph POV—**_**which is why it sounds so weird—**_**and she ain't blind.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA

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It's unfair that everyone expects me to be so damn happy right now.

I mean, think about it. It's early winter. Sleet—yes, sleet; that's what we get instead of snow when it's exactly thirty-_three_ degrees outside—pours from the sky on a daily basis, spreading gray ice that cobwebs the dark wet streets. It's cold enough for a coat, but not cold enough for everyone to wise up and stay home, and yet they seriously want me to be _happy_?

You'd think there'd be a little slack—that people could get away with not being euphoric 24-freaking-7 right now. _Not so_. Everywhere I look—and, I swear, this is five o'clock, Tuesday afternoon—there's people racing around: chubby kids pressed face-first against store windows with what can only be called _lust_ in their eyes, harried moms who race from shop to shop, coat-hanger arms hooked around a million bags already, couples with candlelight smiles, hands superglued together through their matching mittens.

Everyone's running around with hats and scarves and North Face fleeces, goodwill radiating through the air and painting grins across their faces. It doesn't matter that they're blowing money for people who they know they can't stand, and it doesn't matter that the prices are jacked up sky-high. There's this rosy-cheeked cheerfulness floating in the frosty December air, and it's apparently contagious.

So maybe I should be feeling a little pressure to be happy too.

Well, screw _that_.

I'm wearing my gray scarf and black knit hat, and there isn't a trace of scarlet or evergreen within five feet of me. Well, if being a killjoy is what I do best, so be it—I'm planning to live it up. So, no, I don't smile back at all the people scrambling and shoving through the mall, and no, I don't start whistling along to 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer', which is tinkling along from tinsel-draped speakers above my head.

_God, I hate this._

A couple people are giving me sideways looks as I walk, against all my better principles, into one of the stores. Inside, I'm having a little breakdown as I walk past the giant inflatable Santas—_you want _that _in your yard? Seriously? You really want to make it look like Saint Nick just popped out of the ground in front of your house like a giant overgrown mole?_—but I say nothing. I know what I'm here for. In and out.

It's far less easy that it should be to find a wreath. I pick out a small circle of green, real pine branches; for what I'm doing, there's no way in hell I'm going with the fake, scratchy plastic ones. The cashier girl—dressed as an elf, complete with Santa hat and pointy ears—raises her eyebrows as, finally reaching the front of a massive, eager line, I place it wearily on the counter. She looks my age, seventeen or so, but already I can tell we're worlds apart.

"That's all?" she asks, and the thing is, she's not critical. Just surprised, so I can't even hold it against her, even though she's wearing a pair of freaking_ elf ears._ She's being nice, and it trips me; I suddenly can't even muster the energy for a real reply.

"Yeah," I shrug, glancing back behind me and understanding. I do look pretty different from all the other people, juggling their last-minute presents and multicolored ornaments and hundreds of feet of Christmas lights, but it doesn't matter. I really don't need anything else—and hell will freeze over before I get _anything _seasonal and inflatable for _my_ lawn.

"Okay," she says, impossibly cheerful, scanning them quickly. I feel kind of bad for this girl, whose job it is to stand there in fake ears and put a price on other people's Christmases, but she doesn't seem too bothered. I pass a twenty across the counter, and she slips the wreath into a logoed plastic bag, handing me back my change.

"Merry Christmas!" she calls, as I turn away.

"You too," I answer, and I'm really trying to sound sincere, because I kind of like this girl, but honestly, I doubt I'm that convincing. It doesn't matter. She's helping the next person, a worn-looking father with two under-six kids clinging to his legs and demanding candy canes. He seems like he needs her cheerfulness more anyway.

I walk out of the mall, fingering the change she handed me, and drop the coins after a moment into one of the Salvation Army baskets. Fleetingly, the man there stops clanging his bell, calling, "God bless," to my back as I stride past. Unfortunately, years of cynicism die hard, and my first thought is to wonder how many people he's already said that to today, but I still nod slowly as I start to make my way along the edge of the street. For the first time that day, I feel lonely. This man and I are the same: stuck outside, too lost in the snow-globe world of holiday madness. We're the one-percent exception, while the other ninety-nine's running circles right now, panicking over the approaching deadline of the 25th. Obviously, I don't envy them, but at least they've got the rest of their family and friends doing the same thing for them. That's something I don't have, and I do envy that.

I mean, it's not like I've been rejected—'specially in Mom and Dad's case, but with other people too. It's more self-imposed than anything else. They never really show you what happens after the Grinch un-steals Christmas, but I think we all assumed the Whos don't kick him to the curb for past offenses, and go back in to enjoy dinner on their own. But right now you're supposed to act like everything couldn't be better. Sure, shit happens—_but not for these two weeks, it don't! _Damn straight; God bless America and Santa Claus.

And so the thing is, people expect everyone else to be happy too, just as carefree as they are. There's got to be something _wrong_ with you if you aren't, right? No one thinks about bad things, not at Christmas.

But that doesn't stop bad things from _happening_.

The unspoken words reverberate in my ears as I turn a corner, and without warning I'm here. _Damn_, I think, staring up at the wrought-iron gate with trepidation, because it's way too soon to be here already, and I can't go in, and I'm not _brave _enough to do this. Suddenly I want to go back to the mall and just burrow into the crowd, wrap all the energy and excitement around me like a blanket, let it keep me warm and safe. It's cold here, and I'm too scared.

_I can't_, I think.

But I have to.

_But… but…_

This isn't about me.

_And what else am I supposed to do with the wreath?_

And it's nothing touchy-feely, no deep inner calling, just the cut-and-dry logic of that—because what _would _I do with it?—that gets me. Swallowing hard, I put one foot slowly ahead of me. Another. I'm walking mechanically, and even though it's just air, it feels like a riptide's dragging at my legs. Further—now the many monuments begin to rise in front of me, rolling across the ground: crosses like bare reaching trees and mounds of stone that stand crooked as I pass. I keep going, trying not to look too hard. It occurs to me how many there are.

If this was a movie, then I'd be headed for a corner of the graveyard, untouched by footsteps save my own. It's not, though, and I don't. The grave I shuffle towards is midway down a row, in between all the others, like a single face caught up in a crowd. They're hardly even there. I shove myself along the path, my throat tightening as I try to swallow. I haven't been here in a year—not since the funeral—but it looks just the same.

Then I'm there. I stare, and the stone-carved words stare back. They're impassive, unblinking and callous no matter how pretty the lettering is meant to be. I look away after a moment, admitting defeat. Slowly, my eyes slip closed, and it's never hurt so much to remember as it does now that—

_—That it was 'Silver Bells' playing on the radio that night, untouched by static as it hung harmonies like ornaments in the air. It's been exactly a year since I've heard the song, and it will be exactly a lifetime before I ever want to hear it again. Katara hummed along, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. Sokka threw out a comment on how his Christmas would be a lot more jolly if she wasn't slaughtering a perfectly good carol, making Zuko and Aang laugh—real laughs, and Sokka practically shone with pride, even if Katara cut them off with a _look_ a moment later. Rolling his eyes, her brother sank down in his seat beside me; I grinned at him, shaking my head, and he smirked back. No one could really be mad. Christmas was days away, confirmed by the sea of shopping bags crammed around us. Life was absolutely perfect._

_And then…_

_Days of sleet that had poured ink-black ice, blind and indiscriminate, across the roads. We were driving and then all at once we were snapped to the side, spinning wildly over the tarmac. Katara screamed as we went flying in circles across the road, like a broken carnival ride. _Oh, shit_, I remember thinking, because I'm just that fricking eloquent, before gravity inverted, and then everything was black…._

Except it was even worse when I woke up.

I reach into my shopping bag with a commercial rustle of plastic, and pull out the wreath, placing it at the bottom of the gravestone. My eyes rise as I stand up again, and it's like the part of the horror movie where the camera moves to the monster's face at last. Suddenly you can't look at it and you can't look away—but it's worse, because I know what this monster looks like already and I still can't help it. Slowly, my gaze works its way down the outlined calligraphy, dancing along the loops and curls of the eulogies, seeing and only seeing and refusing to comprehend or remember.

_Sokka Hadoka_, read the elegant, painstaking words_, beloved son, brother, and friend: 1990-2009._

I'm not religious. I don't know what happens after you die, and honestly, you can get into too much trouble by guessing either way. I can't believe that he's here right now—I don't work that way, and it's stupid to pretend I do—but it doesn't matter. The wreath sits against the grave, a tribute that smell of evergreen and comfort. _I was here_, they say. I came. Eventually.

No one needs to see this for it to have happened. I know that it did. This is my Christmas, the taste of grief in my mouth and the smell of evergreen in the winter air.

_I'm sorry,_ I think, because I didn't come before, and I should have, but I was scared…

My eyes are stinging, prickling sharply, and I swipe my jacket sleeve across them. It must have been the wind, is all: the ghost of a breeze stirring, skidding solitary dead leaves along the ground and swirling clouds of memories up into the air, towards a gray-blue sky. Just the wind, sharp and unexpected, in my eyes. They're tearing up now, and that's why—the _only_ reason—that a single drop runs down my face, a glistening trail of silver across my cold cheek.

If this were a movie, then I know for a fact I'd have a whole monologue prepared—words that I could send soaring up like a flock of doves into the cold gray sky; words that would be profound and beautiful and just the right thing to say—but my mind is emptier than the graveyard around me. What is there to say to thin air? What can I tell him that won't turn into a cry of injustice instead, that can be what he'd deserve to hear? There's no one to save me if I say the wrong thing: it's just me, alone with the merciless December silence.

A second drop runs down my face, trickling across my lip. I brush it away, and lower my head. My voice is rough and faint, barely a whisper, but still seems very loud as it carves through the empty air. "Merry Christmas," I say.

There's no one to hear, but, somewhere, I hope someone does.

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**Happy holidays, everyone.**

… _**said the author, calmly scrubbing away the dark makeup and brushing emo-hair out of her face.**_** No, but really. Not sarcastic or anything (even if that's hard to believe after this one.) I probably shoulda done mistletoe fluff… eh, so that'll be your present in a couple days. Amidst the novel and all ^_^**

**Oh, I need to throw this out there: thank you, thank you, _thank you_ to everyone who reviewed last time, especially for all your encouragement with NaNoWriMo. I know I'm corny as hell, but your support inspires me so much. And I have to throw out that it feels so good to publish on FF again—I missed you guys!  
**

**So thanks, everyone. More soon (and then another leave of absence... and then 2011!) and til then, reviews are always appreciated!**


	53. Present

**#4. Present**

**So titled because, dear readers, it is **_**your**_** present ^_^**

**But also a reminder—sometimes, I know, a much-needed one—of where it is we need to live. I think it's good to remember that for everything that happens to the Gaang, they're really still kids, and kids need to get a chance to be little sometimes. Even if they were in a war, it's no reason for them to grow up too fast—or, for that matter, for us to think they're completely grown up**_**.**_

**I bring up living in the present for the same reason I bring up kids, specifically ****ones who are far more grown-up than they should ever have to be****. Right now, I have a favor to ask of anyone who's reading. My friend Izzy passed away a few days ago from a brain tumor. She was sixteen, and she'd been fighting cancer since age thirteen. To me, that defines courage. She was just a kid too, and I know I'll never be able to understand how she did what she did, but she is one of the strongest and bravest people I know. **

**A moment of silence for someone you didn't know is, I suspect, slightly uncomfortable for most of you, so I won't ask that of you. But please, take a moment right now for all the kids with cancer who have to be brave in spite of their age, and in spite of fairness. I don't know if you know anyone who's gone through that, but they are some of the strongest people in the world. **

**Thanks, guys.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA, and anyone who knows Santa's coming to your house this year, stop reading right now.

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PTSD, it's called, if you're getting really technical about it. It's the aftermath of the trauma, the stain left behind, the scar you can't see. It screws you up from the inside out, apparently, and it makes all those shadows in the back of your head come to life.

He knows he should be afraid. Sometimes he is. He's not going to lie and pretend like he doesn't have nightmares. You know what scared the hell out of him? The battle at the North Pole. That was what he did last Christmas, one year ago come tomorrow. Until that day, he'd never been in a real war before that. And then there was Yue and the fricking spirit fish and frankly, he was not remotely equipped to deal with _any_ of that.

So what do you do with that kind of thing? What do you do with memories that hurt like nothing you've ever known before? You put them inside you, he learned. That's the only way. He's got a little bag of memories inside him, and he leaves a careful space around them, because every memory is broken glass, and they'll cut him if he tries to touch them. He could let them out and they'd tear him apart from the inside out. Shredded. That's how he'd look.

Is it a disorder? Well, yeah. He's a little bit screwed up. Everyone says that's part of growing up, is getting screwed up.

(_Yeah, it is. They're right. The real difference between being a teenager and an adult is that once you're the latter, you realize that everyone's screwed up, and not just you. Toph agrees that that's a pretty deep observation, right before she reminds him she's _always known you were screwed up, Snoozles.)

He supposes he must be bad at being a kid—that or he really _must_ be grown up—because he _doesn't_ want to do this any more. He doesn't like being mature or acting tougher than he is and he hates what the war has done to him some days. At times when he swings his club and it's not just part of the fighting; it's rage behind the blow, all the injustice he tries to keep in a neat little bottle, carefully corked. He'll explode some day.

He misses being a kid. So, if he thinks about it, that's probably why he spends so much time with her now.

How else is he meant to keep going? Look: Aang's got the weight of the world on his shoulders and maybe he's bearing it with all the grace he can, but Katara's carrying him. Sure, Aang's walking, but she's his crutch. Iroh does the same thing for Zuko, and Suki for her warriors, and Sokka knows he ought to be a crutch too for someone too.

But he's done that, hasn't he? He's been a communal crutch, for Spirits' sake, the only sane one in their little band of misfit prodigies, and he knows he's had enough, that if anyone else tries to lean on him he'll snap. Who knew it wouldn't take fights and loss and fear to break him? That all it would take was growing up?

He lives for running away now. It's a coping mechanism, and his sister can say what she likes, but Suki beats her punching bags until it's too dark to see sometimes, and Iroh slips a dash of firewhiskey into his tea when no one's looking, and sometimes even Katara goes and sits in the rain, staring at nothing, when she's sure no one can see the difference between raindrops and tears flashing across her cheeks.

Compared to that, what kind of vice is she? Sometimes he even convinces himself that she's not a vice at all. She's just a friend. And friendship's not a vice, or if it is, it's the most tolerated one of all.

So soon, it comes to the point where he can't walk without her. If she ever minded she never said, and now they're spending Christmas together at Zuko's new palace. He got a little bit lost somewhere between dining room number five and the third foyer, but he turns a corner suddenly and sees her sitting at the end of a long room, crouched in front of a fireplace. The tree behind her is dappled with candles, all of them lending a syrupy gold light to the air. Toph hears him in the doorway and angles her head towards him as she does when she's listening.

"I'm just leaving out food for him," she explains calmly, and Sokka blinks.

"Him?"

"Who do you think? Santa," she replies, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"But he's not—" he starts, and then she turns and the words wither on his tongue. She's biting her lip, and silhouetted against the glow of the fire like a shadow puppet, she looks so small. Her face, for once, has no trace of sarcasm, and it's as though years have been wiped from her face.

(_It's almost strange to think she's adorable but she is: he wants suddenly to hug her. How did he never know how little she was? Twelve, holy hell—twelve isn't even a teenager; twelve is a child, and she's so _little_…!_)

"Not... what?"

The end of the sentence is lodged sideways in his throat. Does he remember finding out? Of course. He was eight, much younger—when your entire family sleeps in one hut, nothing stays secret for long—and it was the first time he cried since his mother died. Certainly, he doubts Toph would cry, but the thought of telling her makes his gut wrench with nausea. Tell the truth right now, and he knows he won't be able to sleep tonight.

He swallows hard.

"Not… like Santa'll be hungry, right? He's got to visit a lot of houses tonight."

"Old men can always eat more," Toph grouches, setting down the plate. "Look at Iroh."

"Don't let him hear you say that," warns Sokka, but it's relief in his voice more than anything else. She snorts and sits down in front of the fire, holding out her hands to warm them, and Sokka hesitates and marvels quietly at the sight in front of him. Of course she's a kid. Twelve. How did he forget?

Without turning from the fire, she reaches out, patting the hearth beside her. He understands instantly and walks over, taking a seat next to her. She scoots closer, leaning back against his shoulder. He feels a sudden throb of warmth go through him, a little pulse of happiness at the easy trust they've come to share. Toph doesn't lean on many people figuratively, let alone literally.

"Did you ask Santa for anything?"

She shrugs against his arm. "Yeah."

"Anything in particular?"

He watches her hesitate, and then she sighs, head flopping back to rest on his shoulder. "Christmas sucks at my house," she admits quietly. "Mom and Dad always make a huge deal out of it, and it's only ever the three of us, and then they start to fight, and…" She trails away, and her fingers trace circles on the stone hearth. "I wanted to spend Christmas with my friends," she murmurs. "So it doesn't matter too much what I get. This is a good present."

"You can always spend Christmas with me," he replies, without thinking, and only after the words have echoed back through his ears does he realize he means it.

(_Falling in love was a little bit inevitable, he would later understand, but never until then did he see what a beautifully subtle process it was. This doesn't feel anything like he'd expected. Falling—that sounds fast and panicked, full of adrenaline, doesn't it? But this—this was a slow, steady amble, arm in arm, each of them leaning as much as pride allowed on the other. He didn't know he'd been walking until he was already there._)

There's a thoughtful pause from Toph's end of the conversation. "You serious?" she says at last, and he smiles.

"Better believe it."

"Freaking Christmas spirit's making you sappy," she observes, nudging him lightly, and he laughs and then looks down at her and catches his breath a little bit. She looks so small, so effortlessly happy. When was the last time he remembered she was a kid? Since the first time he saw her fight, she's never seemed like a little girl, but she always has been.

He's growing up, he knows, whether he likes it or not. Sure, it would have happened anyway, but it's not just that; everyone _expected_ him older, needed him to get over being little and naïve, and so he did. He grew up because that was what people expected—and if everyone looks at Toph and sees the Runaway, the Blind Bandit, the war hero, how long until her only option is to meet those expectations?

Sokka looks at his best friend and worries, with a fear so sharp and painful he can't breathe for a moment, and when at last he can speak he mumbles, "Toph, don't… don't grow up too fast."

For a moment he sees her hover on the edge of a question, but she never asks it and it's just as well. They sit for a moment more, and then she yawns and lurches heavily to her feet. "Night, Sokka," she murmurs, turning away.

He smiles and calls, "Merry Christmas, Toph," as she leaves the room.

Ten minutes later, Iroh walks in, grins at Sokka, and eats the cookies that are sitting out by the fire.

(_When she finally does find out about Santa, she hits Sokka for lying to her, and then she hugs him because she knows he did the right thing._)

* * *

**Well, it's not exactly the most non-denominational of oneshots. But happy holidays, guys, _whatever _you celebrate, and have a great new year!**

**—skrybble  
**


	54. Day

**#68. Day**

**Sometimes (case in point: last chapter) it's nice to see Toph and Sokka be kids. And _other_ times... **

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

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It's cold, when she wakes that morning, and not quite light yet. He's sprawled next to her, half-mummified in blankets with his hair loose around his face. The sheets, settled in white hills and valleys that dip into pools of shadow, remind her of the snow outside. Why does it seem so freezing inside? All the laws of science say body heat—she should be warm. It's not the case, somehow.

She should go.

She doesn't _want_ to, though. Not when she's so comfortable. She knows that she wouldn't be cold any more if she were to shift just a foot or two left, because then she'd be curled up against him. He hugs, when he's sleeping. It's sort of cute.

More to the point, it's why, once he fell asleep last night—he was out like a light; he'd drunk more (_still not that much_)—she untangled herself from him and curled up on the edge of the bed. She took the blankets with her, actually. He must have taken them back.

She craves heat suddenly, for a sharp, convulsive instant, and every part of her curls: her head to her collarbone, her hands up around her stomach, her knees to her chest and toes against the soles of her feet. Bare skin, all over, and she's still cold.

This won't do. She's going to get up now.

She throws off the sheet, and as it crumples back to the mattress she climbs up to her feet, wishing she wasn't naked. It makes her feel so effing vulnerable, and there isn't anything she hates more than that. She glances around to find her clothes. At least there's not a lot of floor space in his small bedroom; it narrows down the amount of places they could be strewn. She picks herself up, smooths her hair with halfhearted fingers. He barely stirs through all of it—only once, rolling over towards her and pulling the blankets tighter. For a second she's scared to hell that he'll open heavy-lidded morning eyes—worse, that she'll hear a quiet _where are you going?, _one that would slice like a knife through the curtain she's trying to draw over last night.

He doesn't. It didn't. She wills herself to be relieved. That's a good thing.

But there's a tiny part of her that cringes. She wishes he'd woken, because she'll never have the guts to wake him. It's a mess she can't face, and the cleanest solution is buggering off before he opens his eyes.

_It's been a year,_ chides her mind._ A year's a long time to have been avoiding this_.

_Screw you_, thinks Toph, who is never at her most eloquent before eight in the morning, and pulls on her shirt.

But it has. Last New Year, she remembers, it started—at a party last New Year's Eve when the clock chimed _five, four, three, two_… and then on _zero_ she turned and his lips that tasted like beer collided with hers. A shiver went through all of her, like the moment where a circuit joins up and the light goes on, or maybe the shudder that passes through a train veering off its tracks. Time's going to tell on that one. Eventually.

And it's been a year, now, too long, a year of waking up at his house and shutting the front door softly behind her as she leaves. A year, and this time they maybe weren't drunk at all, and they both know it.

What's it going to do to bring it up, though? They can't deal with this; they're not rational enough. _Friends with benefits_ is the wrong term; she doesn't feel anything like friendly, not to him.

Spirits, this could be the dictionary definition of _effed-up_. It's freaking puppy-love that got her into this, a crush (well, okay, and a fair bit of alcohol) making her impulsive, but she has to do something. A year's too long to be in limbo—too long to pretend not to know something's changed.

And yet she can't wake him up, not even as she remembers kisses trailing down her neck and as heat pools in her stomach. A shiver runs through her that has nothing to do with being cold. If he wakes up then they have no choice but to acknowledge it did happen, it is there, and they can't pretend it's okay if they're just friends. Friends don't sleep together and sneak out in the morning, and friends don't go home and deliver screaming rants to the bathroom mirror after it happens. They're not friends, and if she's perfectly honest, she's never wanted to be, but this is—

_Screw it. _With effort, she stops. She knows she's not going to wake him, so she's going home. _Now_.

* * *

He watches her leave through the crack between his eyelids. This isn't the first time he's seen this. He's not as heavy a sleeper as she gives him credit for.

His tongue aches with the need to speak, but he holds himself from calling after her. She doesn't want to hear it; she's made that clear enough. Goddammit, and he wants so badly to say something, but he's terrified, and then she shuts the bedroom door.

The moment she's gone, he falls sideways onto his back, all the breath pouring out of him in a _whoosh_ of air. It's so freaking cold in here, on his own, especially with last night still etched into his head.

_Last night_. The memory swells inside him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He feels dirty, wrong in his own body. It's as though his nerves themselves itch, and it makes him want to scrub the inside of his skin. It's not okay to do this, not with a girl three years younger than him, not with Toph. It's supposed to be that he can be a kid with her, not that she has to be an adult with him.

This is why he can't talk to her. There's nothing she's done wrong. With a clinical interest, he examines the clash of emotion in his stomach: nausea, sure, discomfort that tastes like guilt, but the flickering, unrepentant recollection burning all the same. That's wrong. He _should_ feel guilty. It's all his fault: he kissed her, and he's older, and he was _smashed_, and—

And it doesn't escape him how he's been getting steadily more sober over the year, on the nights he spends with her. But that's why he can't bring it up, isn't it? If he does then it's concrete, and everyone will see just how screwed up he really is, and he'll know that he and Toph really aren't friends and maybe they can't ever be now.

It's not right. He likes Suki. Suki is hot, isn't she? But Spirits, as soon as he lets himself forget that it's Suki he wants, then it's always Toph he needs. Deep down, he sees he's been fixing an addiction for a year.

_But what if it didn't go wrong?_

He groans and presses his hands to his face. _Go away_, he thinks. _Stop it—not this. Not now_, which means 'not ever'.

He asks himself that, every time. What if he asked her to stay for breakfast? She might say yes. Maybe they don't have to suck at being friends; maybe instead, they can be something else—maybe they'd even be good at that. All he has to do is say it, a stinking handful of words, and you know, what if she _did_ agree with him, what if she—

A world away, the front door slams behind her.

He tenses and then sinks limply back into the mattress, a puppet with its strings snipped._ Dammit_, he thinks, and, _Next time. Next time I'll say it._

But of course there shouldn't be a next time. _Next time_ he won't do this at all, right?

He knows that's a lie, and as he curls up in bed, startlingly cold, it's beyond him to feel sorry for it.

* * *

**Okay. Seriously. I do love New Year's and staying up and being all 'OMG 2011!'—what teenager doesn't? But this year I spent it in Vermont sans Internet, and we went to bed at ten o'clock. Which is sad. Unfortunately, the only thing sadder would have been staying up on my own... *sigh*. Still... it was midnight in Bermuda (or something... that's my parents' logic.)  
**

**Anyhow. Happy 2011, everyone—hope your 2010 was awesome, and that you had an awesome New Year's! **

**Reviews are always appreciated!  
**


	55. Ice

**#13. Ice**

**For yuri4281, who's given me so much incredible feedback that it's amazing he didn't give me any requests before now. Real-world Tokka (hope that's okay?) Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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"I guess the guy must be a local, because he's wearing just a sweatshirt. He's a lot taller than the girl he's skating with—she's probably five feet or so, but she looks even shorter, because she's hunching over trying to balance. Plus she's got a huge ski jacket on, so it makes her looks even smaller. He looks like he's been skating for years, but I think she's never been on an ice rink before. It's sort of cute how nervous she looks—_ow_! No, I mean because he's helping her, _that's_ cute—"

"_I'm sure._"

"You know what else is cute? … You, when you're jealous."

"You know what's _really_ cute? You, when you're not talking."

"Adorable, personified. Right next to me."

"Ssh. Keep telling."

"Well… there's a dad over there. He's got a little girl with him, in a purple coat—"

"Purple?"

He squints. Toph doesn't seem to know that boys don't see colors like girls do: purple is purple is purple to him, but with her that never cuts it. He should start carrying around an index of those little paint samplers, hues with names like _midsummer plum _or _lilac zephyr_. "Lavender," he settles for. "She's adorable: really, really little, I mean, like three or four, and he's holding her hand while she skates. She—oh, Christ!"

"What?"

"She fell—no, no, she's okay, it's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. It looked bad when she fell, but she landed on her butt, she's fine. I think she might be crying, but her dad's giving her a hug."

The smile on her face is painfully bittersweet. "Keep going."

"Right. So… there aren't many people. It's getting kind of cold," he says, not too pointedly but not necessarily just as an observation. He wouldn't expect her to be cold—she's nestled somewhere inside a down jacket that's bigger than she is, a hat pulled down over her dark hair and a scarf tucked up to her chin. Winter in New York is a bitch, and what kind of boyfriend would he be if—

Right. Sorry. Not boyfriend any more. That's going to take some getting used to.

"Do you want to go?"

She says it casually, but it's a kind of casual he can read better than anything else. He learned to recognize that brand of nonchalance a year ago: she started using it more and more after the accident, once she was done with the screaming and crying and _screw you, God_ parts of coping. He saw her go through the first few stages of loss clearly—read:_ loudly_—enough, but the fourth one, depression, is where she went astray. He doesn't know, to this day, if she was really depressed then, if maybe she still is if she thinks too hard about it. He doesn't want to believe it.

What he did see was the quiet, which scared him more than anything else. "I'm fine," she would say, and it was a little bit like denial, but there was a flat, dead note to her voice. He had hated it, not because he was scared any more but because he was angry. If she wasn't fine, she ought to tell him: it was his damn job to know, wasn't it? Besides, she couldn't be fine. No one was fine after that kind of loss, especially not her.

"It's not like you can't keep writing," Katara had tried to console her. "Look at Beethoven: he went deaf, and he composed some of his most famous work then. Or Milton—Aang, Milton was blind, wasn't he?"

Sokka watched his sister gazing anxiously at Toph, who looked very small in the middle of her hospital bed. She had stopped turning her head towards people when they spoke by now. There was the obvious explanation, the wrenched vertebrae in her neck, but Sokka suspected that the reflex itself hurt more than any physical pain.

"Sure," she said, with that soft, vicious edge to her voice she used only when striving to wound. "Yeah, I'll be John Milton Junior. _Paradise Lost: Satan Returns_—it's the kind of thing I've always wanted to write."

"Toph—"

Toph's head twisted to the side, towards her friend's voice, and a moment later her face twisted in a kind of pain that made Sokka's stomach wrench. "Katara, will you stop, already?" demanded the girl, her jaw gritting. "I don't want you telling me it's okay; I don't want you to try and understand this, all right? You don't effing get it. I'm _never going to see again_."

"Toph!" Family versus friends cut him to the bone, but Sokka knew well enough that he was one of the only people who could step in when Toph started being cruel. "Lay off, she's just trying to help!"

"_Well, I don't want your goddamn help!_"

The scream chased them out of the hospital room, like children racing indoors for shelter in the wake of thunder.

He can't imagine, even now, what it must have been like. One minute she was driving in the taxi, the next waking up in hospital. They said it was some kind of head injury, the name of which he's long since forgotten but is sure she hasn't. They also said that loss of vision was a small price to pay, when she was lucky to be alive.

He doesn't think they understood Toph at all. Being dead might have hurt her less for the first few months. Toph loved New York with the kind of passion that hurt with its intensity: loved the skyscrapers, loved the parks, loved the museums and taxis and streets and ever-moving people. She loved its cindery, hot-as-hell summers and its vicious snowglobe winters, and when she went to college it was NYU, English major, so much happiness she seemed she might explode. Never seeing her city again now—more than that, her city becoming no longer a home but a _danger_—was a kick in the teeth like no other.

She didn't write a word for three months, until one day he came home and she was sitting with a pen in hand, laboring over chicken-scratch letters that wove back and forth on top of each other.

"I can't write straight," was all she said, and he said, "It looks fine."

And now he's struggling, almost painfully, to give her sight again through his eyes, but the words he finds are nothing like the ones she used before. Toph painted masterpieces with metaphor and adjectives, and Sokka might as well be drawing in crayon. He feels ashamed. He should do better than this—she deserves better than this.

So when she says, "Do you want to go?" in the kind of casual that never means casual, he knows he can't be wrong.

"No," he answers, "I'm fine." A pause, and then, "Do you want me to keep going?"

"Please." She pauses, thinking. "Except not people now. Tell me what it looks like."

The Rockefeller ice rink is beautiful in February. When they were here a year ago, they could have been that couple out on the ice right now—except _she_ would have been the one who looked like she'd been born with skates on her feet, not him. Irony is how now she shuffles even on ice-trimmed pavement, looking decades older than she is.

"It's all light," he says quietly. "That's how it looks from here. The rink is silver, with all the lines of people who've been skating there standing out against the ice, a little bit whiter. The buildings rise up all around it, with their windows lit up in places. The tree—you remember the tree?—is gold, so it stands out, because everything else is gray. And the lights on it… they're like fireflies, a million of them, all glowing onto the ice. It makes everything feel warm."

Toph is looking… no, not _looking,_ but her face is angled forward, as though she can see something ahead of her that's beyond his sight. "Yeah," she murmurs. "Yeah, I remember that."

"The tree?"

"No. Light. It does make you feel warm."

He knows when she's faking her casual, and he knows her voice is only quiet when she's scared it'll break. That's the kind of thing a boyfriend—_right; not anymore_—is supposed to know, or maybe even just a best friend. He wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"I miss it," she whispers.

"I know."

"Sokka?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it beautiful?"

He stops to consider. "I see it every day," he tells her at last. "I don't think so then, but I do now."

Hesitantly, she smiles.

"Let's go," she says, standing up in a rustle of fleece and down parka. "It's getting cold."

It's the first time they've been out in a year, and with the Tiffany's box now light in his pocket—selfish as it is to think in front of her—New York seems like the most gorgeous place in the world. It seems to him Toph's given him her eyes, and if it takes him years or decades to find the right descriptions for her, then it'd be all he could ever do to pay her back for this moment.

He takes her hand without hesitation, feeling the brush of the new ring against his skin like electricity. _Fiancé_, he thinks with a shiver of happiness_, not boyfriend_, and with the thought of years of word-finding glowing in the pit of his stomach, he begins to lead her out of the park.

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**I'm not a New Yorker. This is to say, I've been there, and I love the city, but I'm not actually a local—so actual NYC'ers, if I screwed anything up, apologies in advance.**

**As said before, a request from yuri4281, who asked for Toph and Sokka as a happy, well-adjusted, comfortable couple. Quite honestly, this may have still verged into dysfunctional, but—as requested—it's my take on it. Hope it worked all right ^_^  
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**In a roundabout-ish way this brings me to an important point. It's winter and miserable at home right now, and it's pretty tricky getting inspired in winter, so if you have a request, I'd love to hear it! I know there are plenty of people who've been amazing with reviews and general encouragement (yeah, you know who you are...) so especially you guys, but if anyone has a oneshot they'd like to see, please let me know.  
**

**Thanks, guys!  
**


	56. Bound

**#91. Bound**

**Takes place in the Season 2 finale (sort of)—you know the coup that takes out all the generals? Well, Toph and Sokka sort of got caught up in that in the middle of trying to rescue the king, and they've been taken prisoner as well. Context for those for whom it matters, anyway.  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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"We're going to _die_ here, Toph."

The girl's teeth grit against each other with an audible _clack_. She squirms uncomfortably for a moment and then fall still, taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to keeping herself calm. Her biggest problem at the moment isn't panic, like him, but more a growing desire to try and headbutt him into unconsciousness that's growing harder and harder to squelch. "Sokka," she growls, "if I said shut up, would that make _any_ difference? _At all?_"

"You are frighteningly unconcerned."

"We are not going to die."

"I might," he persists in a small voice. "They could starve us."

She squeezes her eyes tighter shut, doubling over as far as she could in the vain hope it would ease the cramping pain in her stomach. "I'm going to hit you if you talk about food again."

"With what?"

"Goddammit, Sokka, I will_ find a way."_

"I don't think so."

The very thought seems to have cheered him up, and Toph closes her eyes in despair. _Spirits,_ she thinks—with some effort, as prayer comes far from naturally to her. _Spirits, please, I'll do anything, but get me out of here before I completely lose it… _"The fact that we can't move," she mutters, "is not something to be _happy_ about, Sokka."

"You not being able to hit me?" From the sound of his voice, he's raising an eyebrow. "Oh, but I think I'll enjoy that while I can. Silver linings could be worse."

_Goddamn it—Spirits. Seriously. I_ will_ become a nun. _"Since when," she inquires tightly, "are you an optimist?"

"Since when are you so touchy?"

"Since we've been tied up in a _cell_ all night."

He shrugs, and she feels the rise and fall of his muscles, his back pressed against her shoulders. "Well," he says thoughtfully, "at least you're not scared of the dark."

For a moment, there's a very pregnant pause.

"At least I… did you really just—" She breaks off, dropping her head to her chest. "Never mind. Sokka, I'm not even going to _respond_ to that."

"… Actually, I think you just did."

A noise somewhere between a strangled scream and a roar erupts from Toph's mouth, and Sokka cringes. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry don't hurt me?"

"If I could earthbend, you would be dead."

"I'm sure that's true," he says placatingly.

"Don't patronize me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Stop it!"

"What am I doing wrong?"

"_Just shut up!_"

Silence falls like a stage curtain, thick and abrupt and final. Sokka pauses and then says nothing—doesn't even dare move now. After all, they each have their hands knotted with thick, chafing rope behind their backs, and then they've been tied together around their waists, back to back, a lack of any personal space a final indignity.

He thinks, _The Dai Li controls the whole city by now._

He thinks, _No one is ever going to find us here._

He thinks, with a lurch of his stomach, _I screwed it all up._

He looks upwards and then around again, at four walls and a ceiling he can hardly see, but for the sliver of candlelight shining through the hole in the door. It's not so much he can see walls as he can see slightly different angles of light, the way it stretches across the room, illuminating parts of the cell in faintly varying shades of black-gray. He catches his breath suddenly, or maybe it sticks a little bit in his chest.

There are things he should say to her, things that he'd never tell otherwise. His lips twitch and he nearly opens his mouth, before he hesitates. He should tell her he is scared right now, of more than just being captured. He ought to be afraid of the Dai Li outside, with their cat-light footsteps and hidden eyes, and okay, he is a little bit. But he can see them and he can deal with them. It's the things he can't grab hold of that are the problem right now.

It's the fact that he failed, and that here in the dark it comes back to him. If he opens his eyes he'll see it again, the general they were supposed to warn being sucked into the waiting earth, and the minuscule smirk on the earthbender's face. The Dai Li had taken all of Ba Sing Se by now, and Sokka had done nothing to stop it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tighter and tighter, until spots of brightness appear behind his eyelids. If and when he opens them he'll see the Dai Li, and then he'll see Yue, and then he'll be too small for this darkness, five years old again and running from the soldiers who danced with fire and burned his world to ashes on the snow.

This darkness has become tangible. If he opens his mouth he'll swallow it and choke, and he's finding it hard enough breathing already. It's not so much suffocating as drowning in black, and he thinks with a final shred of lucidity that she's lucky not to see.

Soon, meanwhile, she regrets snapping at him. Not right away, exactly, but as he falls quiet and the silence of the cell begins to swell against her eardrums, she's sorry for yelling.

The silence is alive. It has a pulse that beats through her ears, the same pulse as her heartbeat. She listens a moment and then thinks, with a shiver, _I am afraid of the dark_.

There's a part of her which wants to tell him that he's wrong about that. What, she's immune to darkness because she's blind? That isn't how it works. Darkness isn't the amount of light in a room. Darkness is what you carry inside of you, the little corner in the back of your mind where you shove all the things you can't say aloud.

She feels darkness just like he does. He hasn't noticed that this room is wood. He can see better than she can: she's experimented, drumming lightly against the ground—to make sure he wouldn't ask about it, she pretended just to be absently tapping her feet—but there's nothing to see.

Spirits, she's scared.

This takes her back too, being lost like this. Everyone seems to assume she's always been able to see. Nobody realizes that she was six before she ran away and found the badgermoles. Six years of walking and half-tracing echoes of sight, but at the same time, six years of living in a world she knew nothing about. The reason she loves bending more than anything in the world is because she lived six years wholly blind. Six years afraid is a long, long time.

In the cell, where she's really, truly blind, she remembers. This kind of silence strangles her. She lived by listening before—even now, her hearing's probably the best out of anyone in their group—and when you listen and hear nothing it's like not being able to breath.

Her eyes prickle, and she takes a quick, sharp breath. If you don't use your eyes, then you don't freaking _use_ them, and she's not making an exception just for crying. How stupid would it be, if the only time you ever used your eyes was for the sake of getting all weepy.

She's Toph Bei Fong. Nothing scares her, not even shadows, not even the kind inside. Other people get scared of that stuff—not her, never her, never...___  
_

At the same time, the two of them cringe against the quiet. Both nearly speak, but they've never said these things to anyone, and everything feels different in the dark—you can never tell if it's honesty or hysteria.

Then Toph's head falls backwards onto his shoulder, her hair straggling out of its bun. For a heartbeat, she waits for him to push her away, and when he doesn't she goes slack against him, all the tension leaving her muscles in the way of deep, sweeping gratitude.

"I wasn't patronizing," he murmurs.

"Yeah," she mutters. "Sorry 'bout that."

He hesitates, caught off guard by the apology, and then offers, "I bet they'll feed us soon."

Toph lets out a quiet breath, with a little hitch in it that, if she cried—if, if, _if_—might have been a sob.

And it all goes unsaid and said all the same.

* * *

**Because there are some things you can't say out loud, and then there are some times you don't have to.**

**Ooooohmmm... sorry, I'll stop with the attempts at depth. Sorry for any lateness: I'm in the middle of exam week (which would be awesome if not for the actual exams) and my attention span's a little shot to hell. But as of today, two tests down and three to go—wish me luck ^_^**

**Reviews are always amazing!  
**


	57. Rend

**#75. Rend**

**Means '****to tear apart****' or '****to cause pain or distress****' (in case anyone was wondering; I know I get it confused with **_**render**_** sometimes). **

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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It hits him in the middle of the war meeting like a slug to the stomach, hard enough that he drops the boomerang whose contours he's been tracing with a lazy finger; it clatters resoundingly to the floor. Sokka stiffens, and just as a corporal to his right opens her mouth to ask, he lurches abruptly to his feet. "Sir," he says, inclining his head towards the general, and his expression is enough to make the older man reply, "Dismissed, Captain."

Sokka turns and staggers from the room.

Back in his home he fumbles with the ink and dashes off a letter he can barely read. Hawky—less red and more brownish now; he won't live much longer—flutters off from his arm, lost in the wide blue sky.

The reply comes a couple days later, just after sundown, when he's sitting in his room. Aang's script is smooth and practiced, as perfect as the words he selects. Who knew the Avatar would become a politician?

_I haven't seen her for a long time_, says the letter. _Last I heard, she might have been in Ba Sing Se. If you want, I can ask around for you and let you know?_

Sokka's wife hesitates in the doorway with her shadow sprawling across the floor, cutting a person-shaped hole out of the golden rectangle of light. "Why are you sitting here in the dark?" she asks, and then squints and sees. "Is something wrong?" she hazards. "What does the letter say?"

He takes a deep breath. "Nothing," he says. "It's not important."

She's still there; he feels her presence like cold air on the back of his neck. Reaching for the pack of matches he keeps in his drawer, he strikes one against the pack, lighting the lamp on his desk. Before she can ask, he lifts the letter to the flame. A corner catches alight.

The flame is ravenous, gold trailed by crumbling black. He watches the letters snarl and crinkle into ash, and as the fire reaches his fingers, he drops it into the bottom of the lamp by the wick. The words _a long time_ decay into nothing as he stands and pushes in his chair.

After all, there are some things better left alone.

* * *

**Interpret as you will, I suppose.**

**FFnet is the best proof of Sturgeon's Law I've ever seen. That was in no way a self-commentary, for the record (I can only keep writing and hope). Actually, I read an absolutely gorgeous oneshot (for Ouran High School Host Club... yeah, just shut up.) As with almost all gorgeous stories on here, I can't find a second time, but it loosely inspired this. Sorry there's been a ton of Serious Drama being thrown at ya in the last few chapters... anyway, short chapter, so more coming soon ^_^  
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**Thank you, as always, for the reviews; I appreciate every one of them!  
**


	58. Taste

**#7. Taste**

**It's VALENTINE'S DAY! ...Well, close enough. Time for some fluff. And tea. I find they go well together.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

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Because Toph couldn't yet drink alcohol in polite company, she drank tea instead.

Polite company, in this context, was military personnel, government officials, royalty, her parents, her friends' parents, the White Lotus Society—a note of hypocrisy there—the general public of the Earth and Fire Nations, and Katara. Toph drank quite a lot of tea.

Her favorite tea in the world came from a teashop in Ba Sing Se. She spent a good portion of her time off there; Zuko visited as much as he could to see Iroh, and her other friends, envoys between the various Nations, came to Ba Sing Se as often as possible.

Toph was not an envoy. She was abysmally bad at diplomacy, and, not quite humble enough to admit it, had avoided the uncomfortable situation altogether instead. Anyway, as it turned out, there were lots of other things to do if you weren't cut out to be an ambassador. After all, the Earth King needed backup after being thoroughly ousted a year ago, bear and all. He needed big names, wingmen, a new regime with a backbone of steel. In layman's terms: he needed street cred.

Toph was not a diplomat, but street cred incarnate looked a lot like her.

She was training and liberally disciplining the new Dai Li. She was helping the king rebuild society from the bottom up. She was almost fifteen years old, and she was fairly certain she had more of a right to alcohol than most adults.

But even for war heroes, sixteen was the legal age, and so instead she drank tea, pots and pots of it. Most of her days began and ended at Iroh's Jade Dragon, where she could usually find someone she knew from the war. She never had to ask him for a particular flavor; he had a gift, that man, and whatever he brought her was always just what she needed.

Following a day of endless war meetings, generals circumventing and wheedling and pushing little colored blocks around the map on the table—_the pivotal gambit here_, said one, and Toph didn't know exactly what a gambit was, but did know that colored piece was some five-hundred-odd soldiers who were never going to make it through the battle—she slouched through the door, shoulders beaten down by fatigue. He passed her a teacup; she held it to her nose, feeling the soft brush of steam across her skin.

"Peppermint," he said. "It soothes the mind."

After suffering through hours with the Dai Li, drilling them over and over until her muscles shrieked in protest, she could hardly walk she limped over the threshold. Iroh hurried from behind the counter to find her, and after looking her up and down once, he was back in a moment with the tea. It smelled bitter in just the right way, dark and pungent as her mood moments before.

"Hawthorne," he informed her. "It strengthens the heart."

As the winter swept like a veil of white over the city, and Toph struggled through her first encounters with snow, the teashop was waiting. One day when she shuffled in, sniffling loudly and heaving wracking coughs into a fist, Zuko was there on a visit. A single glance at her running nose and flushed cheeks, and he gave up his seat to her at once, hurrying to the kitchen.

"Uncle told me to tell you it's ginger," he explained when he returned, holding out a pot. "It revitalizes the body, he says."

Toph could only sniff through rubbed-raw nostrils, and down the cup he offered her in a single gulp. It was scalding and had the gold of summer in it.

Winter lingered through into the new year and howled outside her window like an animal in pain. One day Toph ambled into the teashop to find a new person there. Sokka didn't come to Ba Sing Se as often as Aang, but when he did he stayed longer. He didn't like traveling so much any more. None of them did, really; all it did was remind them there was an awful lot to fix.

He was already drinking lychee tea; she recognized the smell and remembered a slightly sweet tang that, she knew from experience, left a bitter aftertaste. He looked up in surprise when she yanked out a chair and dropped down next to him; she was even more surprised a moment later, when he grabbed her from her seat into a hug.

Iroh watched with pleasure as she went a deep, vivid red. It was entertaining to see the great Captain Bei Fong—for she was a captain now, a favor from the Earth King she struggled each day to re-earn—taken down a couple rungs. He enjoyed seeing young love. It was another thing he knew she deserved.

He turned from his view at the kitchen door and surveyed his options. Hibiscus, for high blood pressure? No, perhaps not. _Too saccharine_, he decided. Sarsaparilla? _For extra energy_, he thought slyly, and allowed himself a faint chuckle. But that wouldn't do either, would it? No—its leaves were even heart-shaped, and he wasn't one for overkill.

He deposited her tea in front of her a couple minutes later, so promptly she never would have known the evaluation it had gone though. "Chrysanthemum," he said simply, "so you can try something new," and left her to sip it opposite her best friend, a wide smile drawn across her face like a banner.

_Chrysanthemum. Sweet, but not overtly so. Reduces body heat, such as that resulting from fever_…_ and the like._

Iroh allowed himself a small, private grin as he reentered the back room.

Toph and Sokka spoke, and laughed, and repeated over and over how good it was to see the other again, and when the teashop began to shut up for the night, it was Sokka who said, "Hey, you want to come back to my place for dinner?"

Caught up in fit of boldness, she inquired, "Was that some kind of clumsy come-on?"

He laughed quickly. "I'm that out of practice?"

"Out of practice?" A hesitant pause. "But what about…?"

He looked down into his tea. "Suki doesn't—_didn't_ like that I travel so much," he said shortly. "She decided she was going to stay on Kyoshi. Figured out pretty fast that long-distance didn't work."

"That sucks," opined Toph, who didn't mean it at all.

"S'all right." Sokka got to his feet, tossing back the last of his tea in one swallow. "Hey, so are you free? It's not like I know anyone else here."

"Liar," she scoffed, standing with him. "It's the biggest city in the Earth Kingdom."

"No one I'd rather hang out with."

She punched him in the arm as they left. Iroh, watching from the back of the shop, beamed like a child; Zuko, standing behind, shook his head slowly. Whether it was at his uncle or at the pair that had just left—a _took them long enough_ gesture—no one could have said.

* * *

Sokka's diplomatic apartment was impressive and just a little too large for just one person. He showed Toph in, looking only slightly more at home there than she was. His trips to the Earth Kingdom were every couple months, lasting a few weeks each, and though he received the same quarters every time, he hadn't yet lived in them long enough to call the place a home.

"Wow," Toph commented for precisely that reason, stepping across the threshold. "Look at the ambassador and his little mansion."

This gave Sokka the opportunity to roll his eyes and remark that it wasn't really his place, and the air was slightly clearer. He offered to go make some tea. She waited until he had left to sit down on the luxurious couch. His footsteps scurried around in the kitchen as she thought very hard.

_Try something new_, Iroh had said.

"Tea's ready!" called Sokka, some distance away. He sounded thrilled with himself.

"Coming," she answered, and started from her seat.

"I made green tea," she heard him explaining, as she turned through the kitchen door, "because that's kind of hard to mess up—and I know what you're thinking, but it is _harder_ to make than it looks, so anyway, yeah, but I've been working on it, and this is…" He took an experimental sip, swallowed. "_Actually_ pretty damn good tea, so if you want so—"

He was stopped mid-sentence when he turned around, for his lips encountered a soft and slightly chapped and rather determined obstacle that, after a moment's stunned investigation, turned out to be Toph's lips.

It was not a good kiss. Toph knew it was not a good kiss because she had never kissed anyone before, and she had no idea how to go about it. Moreover, she thought frantically, Sokka didn't seem to think it was a very good kiss either, considering the way he'd gone completely stiff. There was stunned-silent stiff, and then there was _holy hell this is bad_ stiff, and with her lips pressed awkwardly against his it was hard to tell the difference.

After a moment that swelled into an eternity, a moment in which she felt herself torn in half between the mortification of the lingering kiss and the fear of his reaction, she stopped, sitting back onto her heels. Sokka put down his teacup with a careful _clink_.

"Oh," he said slowly. "Oh. Um. Wow."

Toph's face was a red to rival fire lilies. "I…" she began, but then she didn't want to apologize, not entirely. Not for a bad kiss, which wasn't really her fault, because you were never good at anything the first time you tried it, right?

Sokka swallowed; his Adam's apple bobbed frantically. "Okay," he said. "I guess that was for a reason… but I was, um, kidding, and I really didn't know it was such a big deal that I made tea, but if you, uh, like it this much, then I can definitely make it again… some… time…?"

Toph breathed in deeply, her foot twisting back and forth almost imperceptibly against the tiled floor, but from what she could sense there was nothing in his heartbeat but stuttering surprise. He wasn't trying to be funny.

_Idiot_.

"Sokka," she interrupted, startled at how uneven her voice was, "that wasn't about the tea."

"I… really?"

"No, Sokka."

"You… just did that because…?"

She steeled herself. Past the point of no return, and things were still no easier. "Because I wanted to?" she hazarded.

There is a sensation, often associated with fear or shock, when one's stomach seems to tremble and snarl itself into frantic knots; but the feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with fear any more when his hands, calloused and expert, were suddenly under her chin, and he kissed her.

He tasted earthy with a faintly bitter aftertaste. Green tea, she realized. She had never really liked green tea much, but there was something extremely different about tasting it on his lips from sipping it out of a china cup. She thought vaguely that she didn't so much mind it now.

"That tea you made," she managed between kisses and gulps of air. "It'll get cold."

"Toph?" Sokka sounded happier than he had all evening. "Forget the tea."

* * *

Sokka left one morning three weeks later, having stayed several days past his intended return date, and Toph showed up at Iroh's that afternoon. For the first time, she ordered when she sat down at the table.

The green tea she received was at once far better and a poor contender to Sokka's.

* * *

**Well, I'm British-American, right? And the thing about that is, British people like tea. That's not a stereotype; it just _is_. So I'm with Iroh all the way on this one. Of course, I would have caught absolute hell if my roommates had seen me on an official tea website, looking up the various benefits of different herbal teas. Definitely not the worst research I've had to do for my writing, anyway... *thinks back to the Twilight movie oneshot with a shudder***

**Anyhow. Fluff, because God knows you've waited patiently for it. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone—and thank you for the reviews; I appreciate every single one!  
**


	59. Reverse

**#64. Reverse**

**I make no excuses for how late this is. Couldn't find anything to write—essay season exhaustion? Sure—until this hit me last night. And it's here today. You wouldn't believe the motivation guilt is, haha. Anyway, _reverse_: i.e., in which Toph isn't fighting for the good guys any more.**

**For reference: (a) Gaoling is the town where the Bei Fongs live, and (b) this is utterly non-canon.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
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The city of Gaoling was just right for their purposes. Reasonably large? Yes. Diverse population? Quite so. Peaceful? Absolutely.

Picturesque?

Well, technically a matter of opinion. In hers, it had certainly been pretty, but now it was gorgeous.

The Fire Nation princess watched the flames lick the sky, sending sparks flying like blown kisses, and had to smile a little bit. The air was no longer thick with the gentle breath of spring. It smelled like soot now, ashy and acrid in her lungs. She liked it: the aftertaste reminded her a little bit of home.

"Princess Azula, we've finished. The men have returned."

She glanced down from the masterpiece, inspecting her nails. "Indeed?"

"Yes, Princess. The fires have reached the central business district."

"And did anyone see where they came from?"

"N-no, Princess. We set the fields alight and let it spread. The houses spread out beyond the marketplace, so we can't conceivably attack further, but the center of the town is destroyed. It's been carried out exactly as you ordered, Princess."

"Lovely. I'm pleased you didn't let anyone see you." Her voice was even more frightening for being cheerily saccharine. "I thought about it, you see, but I felt it might be overkill. Father suggested we instill a little fear into these peasants. They were getting a little… rambunctious, you see. And fear does work best if it's invisible."

The guard hesitated, unsure what to say. In his opinion, she seemed to know far more about fear than any fifteen-year-old should. "Invisible, Princess?" he hazarded.

"Certainly." She lifted her eyes again to the town. It would never recover, and it would never know why this had happened. "Everyone fears most that which they can't see."

* * *

Her parents had been out. They were in town. Her father had been meeting with the town council. Something about the budgets cuts.

The town hall had collapsed in the fire. Lao and Poppy were dead.

Toph didn't know how she felt about that.

This was intentional. She was, in fact, trying not to try and work out how she felt about that. It was like looking at a fresh cut, not yet scabbed over, bulging and raw with traces of infection around the edges. The kind of cut that a breeze sliced like a razor. That cut. You couldn't do anything but look at it. You knew it hurt more to touch. Instead, she was running. Running away was all she could do. She couldn't bend. Not now. She was too scared: she couldn't see fire.

Nothing like this had ever happened before. She didn't know why she'd thought it wouldn't. But things like this didn't happen, not here, _surely_.

Proof of her gullibility. War were everywhere, just like the fire. It seemed alive, a monster she could hear

—it shrieked like an animal—

and taste

—it strangled her, bitter and harsh—

and feel—

the heat clung to her like hands, dragging, clutching—

but could not see.

And she could not longer think better than to follow when she sensed footsteps, tramping past the fields outside her house, and she followed them, stumbling, lightheaded and drunk on flame, and when she heard the girl speak she staggered closer, and when the words the princess was speaking at last hit her, a rage filled her. This rage was not like that of the fire. This rage was dark, pitch-black, an absence of light that rose and swallowed her from the inside. It had claws, long, jagged ones lodged inside her ribs. It wanted blood.

_I'll show you _rambunctious, thought Toph.

She went in on the offense. Rocks were flying. Soldiers screamed. They didn't seem so brave past the limits of their bonfire.

The princess moved quickly. She had a light tread, shadowy, footsteps so careful Toph couldn't see what was happening until the girl was flying towards her.

A high, wild laugh. Fire. Her feet—gone. There was a white-hot pain engulfing everything below her knees. Toph gasped, and when after a moment it did not disappear she choked on a sob. Somewhere between the wracking coughs from smoke and gasping for air, she was wailing, loud and clear, like a child.

Someone grabbed her by the neck. The hand was long-fingered and cold.

"A little girl?" mused a calm, silky voice. "This one might be useful."

Toph blacked out.

* * *

A day later, the Avatar arrived in Gaoling to find it ashes on the wind and a few dull-eyed townspeople. They helped all they could, and when they could do no more they left with slumping, heavy shoulders. Aang did not yet have an Earthbending teacher.

Two months and some-odd days later, a drill was sighted from the walls of Ba Sing Se.

The sun drooped towards the far horizon like a wilting flower, painting the sky a dull, rusty orange above him. Directly ahead, the wall of Ba Sing Se towered, mile-high and eerily smooth. It seemed too big to be real.

But then again, so was the drill. Aang hesitated, his small coil of water waiting suspended in midair. His eyes were hollowed underneath from exhaustion, and he ached from running and jumping and swinging his arms back and forth, trying to chip away at a thousand parts of this godforsaken machine. Who could say that this was bound to work, anyway? Deliver a blow to the top of the drill? It was metal, for Spirits' sake, and he was chipping away at it with a square foot of water.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, and the lightning cut past his shoulder.

Azula had meant to miss. He knew it in a moment, in the instant where he dropped the water, hit the ground on instinct, rolled sideways. He couldn't have been more vulnerable if he'd tried; if she'd wanted the shot, there could have been nothing easier than to take it. The thought came with a sort of vague terror.

He had little time to worry about it. The metal scalded his skin as he slammed against the drill. It had been baking in the sun for days; yet he hadn't realized how hot it was until his bare shoulder pressed hard against the black iron and his nerves shrieked in pain. There was nothing like that kind of hurt to wake you up.

Azula took a step closer. Her fingers were smoking gently.

"Got you, Avatar."

He coiled, sprang to his feet. "Azula."

She grinned. "You're alone," she mused. "You look nervous."

"I'm not scared of you," he lied. "And I'm not alone, either."

Her smirk grew.

"Oh, really?" she inquired, lazily conversational. "Who's that? Your friends down there?" She gestured with a vague hand, and the smile tore her lips apart, revealing glinting teeth. "They're just being taken care of."

* * *

Katara had done many things more fun than blocking slurry pipes of Fire Nation machinery.

Already, she ached for Aang. This would have been much easier if she'd had another bender here. The slurry, a reeking, murky concoction the consistency of mud, wasn't nearly under enough pressure for Sokka's plan to work, but even now it was difficult to contain. Her fingers ached from the constant motion; muscles from wrist to shoulder seized and wailed quiet protests. Several yards behind her, Sokka stood rigid, his eyes darted back and forth across the empty ground. The air was quiet but for the low, animal growl of the drill.

"Is there anyone there?"

"Nope," he answered. "No sign of Aang, either."

She flinched as a new wave of slurry crashed against her barrier. "_Nothing?_"

"Nothing that I can—"

He broke off before '_see_', and she knew something was wrong.

As Sokka watched, the figure appeared at the rim of the drill, lit orange by the sun in front of her. Without hesitation, she ran and then jumped off the side of the drill. Sokka's heart jumped into his throat, but the girl reached back with a hand, grabbing onto the side of the drill—and somehow she _slowed_, the metal seeming to ripple slightly in her wake. He blinked frantically, wondering if he had been out in the sun too long, and when he reopened his eyes she had landed and was straightening up calmly.

"_Sokka?_"

"It's a little girl," he murmured, frowning.

The little girl stomped her foot, and the rocks flew.

He dodged the first one; the second sent him to the ground, skinning his hands raw on the gritty earth. He jerked his head up, already reaching for his boomerang; Katara, somewhere to his left, was shouting incoherently. Something about slurry?

The girl was in front of him. He squinted at her, watched her lift a spread-fingered hand. She jerked it upwards and dust flew, slashing through the air into a hurricane. Sokka gasped in and choked; reflex hit a moment later, and he pressed his arms to his face. Grains of sand in the wild air stung at all his bare skin for a moment, and then it stopped. He could see nothing, nothing but swirling white dust in the air.

"Katara!" There were moments for stealth, and moments where it was far more important that your little sister was all right. "Katara!" he howled again. "Are you okay?"

His eyes flicked to the ground, and he saw the fault, flying at him like an arrow. The earth seemed to be ripping along a seam, some invisible hand yanking a tectonic thread. Barely had he registered it before it threw him off his feet, landing hard on his back. _Earthbender_, he realized, and could have kicked himself. "Katara!" he cried, scrambling up. "She's an earth—"

The rock caught him in the side of the head. Pain, sharp and startling. Something warm trickling down his face, into his eyes. He blinked red, and a foot appeared ahead of him in the haze.

His eyes moved slowly upwards, but he'd already known it wasn't Katara. The little girl was staring down at him. Her dark hair ruffled gently in the wind, peppered white with dust. She wore Fire Nation armor, a dark, bloody red, and she was scowling.

"Shut up," she said.

He didn't move as she started closer. Adrenaline was coursing through him, sharpening every sense, and he noticed that she moved oddly, one of her legs dragging on each step. The dust twisted back, a veil drawn back and disintegrating, and he saw the scars on her legs. They were mottled and dull, an unmistakable red against her white skin. Burn scars.

"Are you with the Avatar?"

His jaw gritted. "Why do you care?"

"Playing the tough guy? That's cute."

She spoke like someone he knew, and yet not quite. It was snarky, he thought, not scary so much as irritating. "Where's the other one?" The earthbender twisted her foot against the ground. Her eyes did not move, fixed dead ahead. They had some glassy quality Sokka couldn't place. "The girl? They don't care about you, but if she actually messes up the slurry pipe…"

Her foot froze. "Damn," she hissed. "Azula's going to be _pissed_."

_Azula_. She sounded almost like Azula, but there was all the same something different in her voice. Azula spoke like poisoned honey, sweet and venomous. This girl looked like a little girl, had the small build and wide, innocent eyes, but her voice was like gasoline—like all she needed was a spark.

She frowned lightly, the expression drawing lines in her face, and then began to turn. Her good foot lifted, mid-step.

He leapt forward, grabbing hold of his boomerang in one motion. She couldn't possibly have seen him, not even out of her peripheral vision, but she whirled back, hand flying out in front of her. The dust whirled and crystallized in an instant, and she caught the blow on a forearm cased in rock.

It would have worked perfectly, but even in turning she had been an instant too late. The boomerang came down too hard, and the rock cracked, along with something else. The girl gasped in pain, jerking her arm away and clapping her free hand to the ground. Rock leapt, engulfing it to the shoulder. He swung again and she blocked with her new armor, but her other arm was still hanging limp at her side, a gash in the middle of it trickling blood. She had gone paler, and the dust was beginning to settle.

She stomped her foot and rocks rose from the ground, but he knew enough from Aang and Katara; nobody could bend one-handed. They wobbled in midair, missing him by an easy foot.

He flew towards her; she swung with the rock arm and caught his shoulder. Sokka reeled, and the girl turned to run, back towards the faint outline of the drill. The haze around them had nearly settled. He started to run as the girl hobbled through the motions of a sprint, towards Katara.

_Katara_.

His sister, who, dust-covered and shaking, was still holding the slurry in place.

A last burst of speed. He jumped and grabbed the girl around the waist; they crashed to the ground in a snarl of limbs, the girl spread-eagled under him. She made some sharp, vicious motion with her good arm, and Sokka found his ankle pinned by rock at the same time he grabbed for the weapon on his belt. Every good Water Tribe warrior always carried his club within easy reach. They froze: him with the weapon raised over her head, her with her bending hand tensed and ready.

"I'll break your ankle," she hissed.

"Fine," he answered, voice steady. "Do it."

"I'll snap it. Like a twig. You won't even know until it's already crushed."

He didn't need to argue. She knew about the club. "I don't want to hurt you," he said sharply. "Don't be stupid."

"Screw you," she spat. "You won't do it. Probably don't have the guts to hit a girl."

"No," he corrected, "I'll do it. But I don't want to."

She was silent save her panting for breath, her abdomen rising and falling frantically under his chest. "That's a damn lie," she growled. "And I'd know, okay? And I bet you think you're good at lying, just because your heart's not changing, but Azula can do that too. And you know something? She always effing says that, and she _always_ effing likes it!"

Her hand hit the ground and then _kept _going, sinking, swallowed up by earth. Sokka barely had time to blink before she vanished into the ground beneath him, and he hit the dirt, his chin coming down hard on stone. He jerked up, wrenching his ankle free. She was _underground?_ Spirits, she could be anywhere by… by now…

He was already running towards Katara when the ground by her feet began to roil. "Katara!" he roared. "Watch out!"

High above, on the drill, Aang dodged a jet of flame. It exploded just at his feet, where the slash marks of water were still visible, and the metal there pulsed red. Aang leapt as only an airbender could, leapt and pressed his hand together and forced them down. The ball of air that shot out flew straight towards the newly-weakened spot on top of the drill. It had enough force to knock Appa flying, and it would have torn a hole through an adult man. The shock wave when it hit rippled across the drill.

Katara had been holding the pipe blocked for as long as she could, even when dust flared before her eyes, even as the sounds of fighting rose behind her, when she felt the drill collapsing. She raised her arms with new strength, ready to divert the coming wave, and Sokka slammed into her, running full-tilt. Katara skidded across the gravely earth, the little dark-haired girl broke through the ground just where she had been, and Sokka grabbed hold of the kid, wrenching her arms behind her back.

The slurry exploded on top of them.

Awash in an ocean of foul-smelling mud, Sokka was less than pleased, to say nothing of Katara. Judging from her expression—the first thing he saw as he stood and scraped dirt from his eyes—he would be paying for this for weeks. Blood and slurry were running together down his face as he spun frantically around, but when he saw the earthbender he stopped abruptly. She hardly seemed to have noticed. Knocked flat on her back by the explosion, she sagged back onto both hands now, blinking owlishly.

She must have felt his stare, because she ducked her head, her jaw clenched. "Okay," she muttered. "You win. Do it."

Sokka stared at her. She looked even smaller, there on the ground, caked in mud. He didn't even want to be angry with her any more.

"Do it!" she shouted, and her voice carried over the newly silent earth. Everything was eerie and still without the drill's ever-present thunder of engines, and mud dripped off her face like thick, globby tears. "You win, all right? You don't need to drag it out."

He eyed her. How old was she? Twelve?

Not many twelve-year-olds could bend like that. It occurred to him that it quite possibly might take one to teach one.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said."

"Sure. _You're just going to teach me a lesson_." Her voice was sick and bitter.

Sokka ignored it. He took a step towards her. Another. She cringed involuntarily as his boot squelched through the slurry, and the glare on her face a moment later was a too-hasty cover. He bent down next to her, and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed, shoulders rising in an inescapable flinch.

She opened one and then the other a moment later. They did not entirely focus on his hand, but he knew she'd seen it nonetheless.

"How well can you bend?" he asked.

"What's it matter?"

"You think you could teach someone?"

Her lips parted slightly, eyebrows unfurrowing. It was the first expression he'd seen on her face that wasn't remotely hostile. She bit her lip, a clumsy shrug tilting her shoulders. "I guess… I could try?"

When she clasped the hand he'd offered her, hers was calloused and still quite small. He held it tightly as he pulled her to her feet. She rubbed the back of her hand across her face, succeeding in little else than smearing new mud across her nose and cheeks.

"I'm Sokka."

"Toph."

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**No, it has little-to-no foundation in canon. But it's Toph and Sokka beating each other up. Also, a new chapter during the middle of essay season. March break in two weeks... that's the thought that'll be keeping me alive til then ^_^ ****Well, that and more cameos of more Evil!Toph, who definitely has badass potential.**

**Reviews are always appreciated!**


	60. Family

**#31. Family**

**Toph is married. To a noble-type person. Has been for approximately a year. "Married" and "happily married" aren't mutually inclusive, though.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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"Miss Bei Fong? It's a boy, Miss. A baby boy."

She heard the words through the foggy aftermath of the pain, and they took a moment to sink in. Now that the hardest part was over, it seemed that she had wrapped herself inside a bubble, and the outside world was moving somewhere beyond its exterior, slow and distorted. She breathed out in a slow, inaudible whoosh, spent air quivering on her lips.

"He's gorgeous," said Aang politely. He was standing by the door, having opted to stand by and then—finding the miracle of new life slightly too much for him—opted quietly to stand in the hall. His eyes were still very round, a kind of _Spirits, I hope I never have children_ round. He clearly had no idea what a good baby looked like.

"Oh," breathed Katara lovingly: she, just like any good Southern Water Tribe girl, knew babies and adored them. "May I see?"

She extended two soft, careful hands, and the nurse eyed her carefully for a moment. Slender and dark-haired with a round, childlike face, the midwife looked just as utterly calm now as she had minutes before, when Toph's terrifying screams echoed out to where Aang and Sokka stood in the hall. This composure was a greater feat than memory could do justice to. Even now, Sokka hadn't quite regained all color in his face: Toph _never_ screamed. Toph's husband had stayed inside the room with Katara and the nurse, but more from obligation than anything else; already nobility-pale, he had turned whiter and whiter still throughout the birth.

"Here," said the nurse at last, and passed the squirming blotch of pink to Katara. Cooing, Sokka's sister cradled the boy to her chest, running a finger across the baby's cheek. Her skin, a warm, milky brown, was a raw contrast to the violent red of the child's face.

"Toph," murmured Katara, who always knew the right thing to say at times like these, "your baby is beautiful."

And it was, Toph knew vaguely. Her child—a beautiful little bastard.

No. This wasn't right. There was something yet to ask. "Katara?" she breathed, stretching towards the noise outside her bubble. There was something she had to know, something desperately important that only someone else could tell her.

Katara started, clutching the baby tighter. "Yes, Toph?"

"What does the baby look like?"

Hesitation. Then, "Very… very small. He's got a little bit of dark hair, very soft, and his eyes are already wide open—"

_Eyes!_

The word scythed through the warm membrane of sleep like a scalpel. Toph's pale hands tightened on the edge of the sheet. "What color?" she hissed, in a voice like the rustle of dead leaves.

Katara's brow furrowed. "What?"

"_What color eyes, Katara_?"

"They…"

Katara stopped. Her slender hand froze against the baby's cheek. The difference in skin tones really wasn't so great at all: the baby was closer to her Water Tribe brown than Toph's pale, well-bred white. The little boy gazed wisely off into space, his eyes round and blue.

Katara's eyes rose to the husband's, Earth Kingdom brown, to the nurse's, the same color, and then desperately to Toph's—the same glassy celery-green as always. _Blue eyes_, she thought hopefully, _those are recessive. It might not be that. Please, not that…_

She very deliberately didn't let herself remember that the husband was a noble, just like Toph. Brown eyes, green eyes, hazel eyes were in their blood. No pure-bred Earth Kingdom citizen had blue eyes; they were a trait passed down through the Water Tribe.

_No. No, no, no, no, no…_

"They're… sort of… well, a kind of a hazel-_ish_," stammered Katara, who never knew the right thing to say at times like these. The husband and his dull brown eyes fixed on the back of her neck, a dangerous, icy pressure like the flat of a knife.

"Hazel?"

"Yes," she mumbled, "well, in a sort of _general_ sense of hazel, with maybe a _hint_ of teal sort of around the edges—"

"Katara," Toph deadpanned, her head flopped back and sideways against the pillow, "what the hell is teal?"

Katara didn't dare look at her brother. "Blue," she said, almost inaudibly. "His eyes are blue, Toph."

Sokka's heart stopped.

"My son," said the husband faintly, his brown eyes already glazing over. He loved Toph, Katara knew by looking, not with passion but with the kind of devotion that might have made both of them happy, if it had ever been devotion that Toph wanted.

Katara passed the baby back, no longer able to look at it. "Guys," she suggested, "maybe... maybe we should give Toph some space." She tugged pointedly on Aang's arm, and her fiancé nodded hurriedly. The husband followed the two of them anxiously to the doorway, but Katara turned back to see Sokka still frozen by the bed. "Sokka," she said, her voice inflectionless, and he turned to look at her. It was his eyes, and not his gaze, that made her flinch.

He saw something in her face, and followed her woodenly through the door and into the hall. When, pausing at the stairs, Katara realized that _oh, no, she'd forgotten her bag_ and asked Sokka to get it, no one thought anything of it.

He reappeared in the doorway, jaw set, lips pulled very tight as if to fight back a thousand words. The nurse eyed him calmly, with eyes that threatened to know everything and promised to remember none of it. "Miss Bei Fong," said the impassive but very sensible midwife, "shall I take your son down to the nursery?"

Toph was very pale, paler than before, her skin stark and sallow against the pure white of the hospital sheets. "Yeah," she whispered. "That would be good."

The nurse left the room with steady, tapping footsteps, taking the incriminating pair of blue eyes set in a Water Tribe face with her.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her breath shuddered on her lips. "I didn't know."

"Did you _think_?"

"It was a possibility."

"Toph, I…" He stopped. His legs were trembling; in fact, all of him was slightly unsteady. It was as though the world had jolted under his feet like a carpet being yanked away, leaving everything shifting and dizzy around him. He didn't dare walk closer, not trusting his feet; his hand on the doorframe had tightened like a vice. "Why didn't you _tell _me?" he repeated brokenly.

She turned her head away, teeth digging into the pale edge of her lip. He felt abruptly sorry for what he was saying, so soon after the baby, and then suddenly not sorry at all. "Why not, Toph?"

"Because I felt so stupid," she whispered, the slightest hitch in her voice. He stared at her, waiting for an elaboration he sensed coming. "Who gets pregnant the first time they sleep with someone?" The way she spat the words, he knew she'd been tasting them for much too long, nine months too long. "You can't screw it up worse than _that_, Sokka."

"Third."

"What?"

"The... third time," he corrected, flushing. "Probably. Because it must have been in November—"

"It doesn't matter what time!" she cut in fiercely, and he was shocked into silence by the force of her words. "We didn't plan for anything, so I figured it was all-around better if I just dealt with it myself."

"'It' being our _baby_?"

"My baby," she corrected, and then, "_The_ baby."

"Our baby!" he barked, so loudly he frightened himself for a moment. The shout was like a crack of lightning, and for a moment he saw all illuminated, laid bare by brightness: the bald, raw fear in her face; the gaping, incriminating doorway behind him. He stepped into the room, kicking the door closed behind him, and it shut with a soft click. "He's not your baby," he said softly. "You don't just get to claim him, Toph, not without asking me first."

"It's not your responsibility," she hissed. "It's my fault, okay? Let me take care of this myself. I have more of a goddamn claim to him than you do."

"And so does your husband, I guess?"

"Stop it!" she exploded, her cheeks flushing. The color in her face was so raw and reassuringly vivid that for a moment it was all he could do to be thankful for it. "Can't you see I'm trying to help you?" Anger was beginning to fray through, anger and a couple other emotions he saw much less often on her face. "Sokka, I've got a husband!"

"We've got a son," he said quietly.

Suddenly, Toph didn't remember what she'd wanted to say next.

"I'm a father." Sokka didn't seem to be speaking to her any more. "I'm a _dad_."

"Yeah," she said weakly. "So?"

"I didn't see my dad for years during the war." Memory, dusty with age, tasted odd on his tongue. "Did you know? He left when I was six, and I saw him again when I was fifteen." He paused, a breath shivering on his lips. "Toph," he said at last, "do you know what it's _like_ not to have a dad?"

"He will have a dad," she countered, but there was no force behind it.

"He'll have a father," Sokka disagreed. "But he won't have _his_ dad."

Her lips tightened, as though she'd dipped a limb into icy water but was determined not to show the shock. "I'm trying to help you," she whispered at last. "Can't you just accept a favor?"

"That isn't a favor."

"I'm letting you off the hook."

"But I'm _not_," he said desperately. "I don't want to be."

A pause. She blinked slowly at him with sightless, owlish eyes. There wasn't so much trust in her face, he didn't think, as a wish to believe him. Her lips parted, and when she tilted her head towards the light from the window he saw her eyes were glassy with tears.

"We've got a _son_," she murmured.

He hazarded a step, and then another, and then with all the care in the world, he sat himself down on the edge of the bed. The mattress groaned beneath him, protesting a weight much larger than Toph's, but neither of them heard the noise. It was sunny outside, still only just afternoon, and the sun warmed Sokka's back as he reached out and smoothed his fingers over Toph's hand. There was almost nothing that need be said—nothing, perhaps, but three words.

"Yeah," he replied. "We do."

* * *

**I find the idea of Toph pregnant really weird. ****Am I the only one who thinks that? ****... Yeah, a little contradictory of me to say that, I suppose, after this chapter, but it's somehow strange to picture. Still, variety is variety. **

**More to come very soon if I can stay focused—spring break starts TOMORROW! Yes! I'm looking forward to a very long-overdue vacation ^_^ ****To anyone else who is or is about to be on break, enjoy, and get tons of sleep!**

**Ooh! Bonus points to anyone who works out who the nurse is. Anything else? No, don't think so... so thanks for reading, and reviews are (as always) phenomenal!**


	61. Hate

**#42. Hate**

**Marriage seems to be a theme right now... well, if nothing, I promise no one's pregnant this time.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.

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The firewhiskey is beginning to taste less like burning and more like anesthesia, and he's surprisingly okay with that. Mostly this is because his vision's going a little blurry around the edges. Plus he can't quite move his hands right, but he can still hold the glass and look still faintly sober when he signals to the bartender. That's what's important.

He looks down at the glass in his hand, and is somewhat surprised to find it two sips from empty. It was still full last time he checked. He should… he should get another one, maybe. Yeah. That would be good.

The bartender is giving him this shifty look. Sokka scowls back, kind of like, _yeah, got a problem?_ Because he can still do that just fine. The man is either scared or just unimpressed, because he turns away. Then Sokka remembers he wanted another drink.

_Damn_, he thinks, and as a bad mood started to swell around him like a thunderstorm, someone sits down next to him.

He was going to turn and look, but he's a little hunched over on the bar, supporting his weight on both arms because he's feeling sort of dizzy, and anyway, he's sulking, right? Wallowing, even. It's not quite too much to say that. So he's not obligated to look. They can just leave, if there's such a problem.

After a moment, a hand reaches out in front of him. He kind of looks at it, trying to figure out what it's doing, and then suddenly it closes around his glass. "_Hey—_!" he begins, but by the time he gets his head around to look, she's already setting down the glass and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

"Sorry," Toph says. "Were you going to drink that?"

His glower for the bartender was nothing compared to this one.

"I would say you've had enough of those—"

"T' _hell_ I have."

"—_But_ you're still coherent, so we're going to need some another round."

The bartender has gravitated closer throughout the sentence, the prospect of entrepreneurship enough of a lure, and by the time Toph motions for two more drinks he seems to have forgiven Sokka's glare entirely. The glasses clink onto the wooden bar.

"Katara told me," Toph said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"An' what?" He sips, swishes it in his mouth, swallows. It ought to taste like hellfire, but it's just kind of bitter.

"Is that the necklace that…?"

His glass slams against the counter, and he revolves to face her. "Yeah," he spits at her, like this is her fault. He needs to forget right now, to wake up again with his whole life a blur, and this damn whiskey isn't fixing anything. "_Yeah_, Toph, that's the goddamn necklace. And yes, I haven't thrown it away. Y'know how long this took me t' make?"

She looks afraid in a pale kind of way. He realizes she doesn't see him angry often. Usually she can calm him down. Usually he can be the rational one. "Weeks," she supplies, just faintly sarcastic.

"_Weeks_," he repeats with relish. It hurts to say, and it's so good. "Weeks, and y'know what? She din't even _touch_ it. She jus'… she jus' looked at it, right, lookin' all surprised, like she thought I was kidding, and then she goes, 'oh.'"

He waits a moment. " '_Oh_'," he repeats, in case she didn't hear the first time. "It's like, she din't even think it was coming. Like, I'm down on one knee, and she still had no idea til I _said_ it."

"Yeah?"

He can't tell if he's being patronized or encouraged. "Yeah," he hazards. "Two years, Toph. And she's surprised."

"Kyoshi warriors. What're you going to do about 'em?"

"Go to hell."

What stops her is the anger in his voice. Judging by the way he can't quite keep his words clear, the faint lack of focus in his eyes, she thought he'd had enough to soften the sting of emotion. Sokka's usually a happy drunk, happy in a pleasantly numb kind of way. There is nothing numb about this. It occurs to her for the first time that he might have been faking, for himself as much as anyone.

"Hey, Toph," hisses Sokka, "you know what happened to my first girlfriend?"

Toph does, but says nothing.

"She turns into the _moon_. Do you know how many effing girls do that, Toph? One in the entire world, and she's got to be the first person I fall in love with. All of two weeks with her, and I'm already planning our whole lives together, and she goes and dies. _For. A. Fish._"

Toph takes a sip and nods, like, _Keep going_. She knows he's going to anyway.

"And then… and then I've got—Suki, right," he continues. He's gotten more vocal now, gesturing wildly as he speaks, but it doesn't distract her from the hitch in his voice at Suki's name. "And I'm thinkin' hard about it, because, you know, I've been waitin' and waitin', but here's the girl I can really spend my life with. Here's a girl who won't leave me, and she's tough enough to take care a' herself, and she don't come with any secret issues, like, 'oh, by the way, I'm part moon spirit and I've gotta give that back someday'—"

"And you certainly don't find girls like that every day."

Oh, for a Sokka that understood sarcasm in minute traces. But he's got enough whiskey in his system to overlook, if not to forget.

"I dunno what I'm going to do now," he says faintly. "I… I can't do this, Toph. Remember when she 'n I broke up last year? And…"

Toph stops listening as soon as he says it. Yes, she remembers. She remembers hearing the news and thinking that she had a chance, and then seeing him and knowing she didn't. Not when he was that messed up about it. How bad was it, to be that close and have your sense of decency holding you back? _I'll give him time_, she decided reluctantly._ And I'll tell him when he's gotten over her._

Two and a half weeks later, he started dating another girl. Two months later, he and Suki were together again.

"… And _Ty Lee_, Toph, I even went out with Ty Lee that one time! And I figured that'd help me get over it, 'cause she's hot, right? Yeah, an' I _knew_ she was hot, but it was like it didn't even matter! What the hell's that even mean?"

His hand comes down hard on the bartop. The bartender, now tactfully arranging bottles on display, makes an effort not to look.

"That you have standards," she deadpans. _And that you're in love. I hate you for it._

"Standards." The word's infinitely harsher in his voice. "Because I can sure pick 'em, can't I? I mean, look: there's me, thinkin', I love her, right? This is perfect. Time for the next step. And then she says _no_." His head falls into his waiting hands, and he stares desolately at the swirling wood grain of the bar. "S'not what you're supposed to say," he insists faintly. "How often's that happen?"

"Well, probably more often than the fish thing."

"_Stop it, Toph_."

Dull. And flat. That's how the words come out. And there's such fury behind them she freezes, the glass a moment from her lips. Sokka stares at her, his eyes she can't see dark with rage.

"I am sick of you," he says. "And of her, and Yue, and all of you who can't just leave me alone. You've gotta keep playin' with me, or _laughin'_ at me, and I've had enough. You don't understand _any_ of this. You're jus' a kid."

She sits there, mute. Of course she doesn't; and she knows she is. He didn't have to point it out.

He grins weakly, a sick, clownlike expression. "You don't get it," he mumbles. "You don't get it. Of _course_ you don't. _I_ don't get it!" A strangled laugh catches in his throat, and he turns to her. He's still hunched over, like when you have a stomachache, where you curl around your center to try and stifle the pain.

"It doesn't make _sense_," he says with emphasis. He likes sense. He's not like most people, who lose it when they drink—he hangs onto his sense, so then it seems perfectly reasonable when if one whiskey made him feel good, two will be even better. "It's not fair. I did everythin' right. Even right from the start, with Yue—I skipped the whole battle just t' make sure she'd okay, and she goes… she goes and she _dies_ in front a' me, and…" And he's trailing, losing steam, his tirade trickling into a feeble drip of words. "Toph, s'ike it's not even fair anymore. Like Spirits are jus' laughin' at me now."

It's a loud silence there in that room, pressing on her eardrums. "Yue's a spirit," she ventures at last, unusually quiet. There's nothing that upsets her more than being bad at things, and how useless she is right now is killing her. "I don't think she'd laugh."

"Only knew her for two weeks, didn't I?" He speaks through gritted teeth. "Guess I wouldn't really know."

"I wouldn't laugh," she mutters, even more softly.

He snorts then. "Why, 'cause it's at my expense? Never stopped you before."

"Has when it matters."

"Y'think it matters now?" Her head tilts slightly towards him. His voice is changing, thickening, as though the words are harder to say: each comes out rougher than the last. "Why the hell would it? Laugh at me. Everybody else is, aren't they? Whole effing world's—already laughing—so you m—might as well—"

When he breaks off, his shoulders beginning to quiver gently, she holds her ground and her tongue. She knows it does matter to him, whether or not he'll say it. With one hand, she flags down the bartender and signals for another firewhiskey, each. She's just a kid, but she likes to help where she can.

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**I've had a week's spring break, and I've been sick since Sunday. ****That said, thank you so much for all the reviews, which definitely cheered me up. I'd had this one half-written on my hard drive for a while, but I finished it off, in between abusing the kindness of my sisters, sleeping a lot, and a Disney marathon. And considering my new love of the genie from Aladdin, it's a pretty normal outcome compared to what might have been ^_^**

** Apologies to those of you who asked for a continuation of the last one—rest assured, I've got plans for the Tokka baby. Priority right now, though, is getting something posted so I can go sleep this cold off. Thanks for the feedback, guys, and reviews are always appreciated!**

**(p.s. Yeah, it's random, but I need to know... where on earth does Aladdin take place? Glory and recognition next time to anyone who knows...)  
**


	62. Unwritten

**#54. Unwritten**

**I'm so sorry for the wait—FFN wouldn't let me update! So after an extremely long and frustrating wait (wherein the one time I'm prepared to update, I _can't_) the site's de-glitched. I'm back, baby... and totally not channeling whatever that line reminds you of.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

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Here are some things about Riku Bei Fong that people should know:

_1. He doesn't look like the other kids from the Earth Kingdom._

His hair passes for normal, but his skin's reliably darker than most of theirs. The first part makes sense: people say he has his mother's hair, thick and dark and altogether unmanageable, and she's from the Earth Kingdom. He doesn't look like her, though, not really. Even she—who can see neither hair nor eye color—says Riku's built like his dad.

That makes Riku pretty proud, because his dad's kind of a hero. Sometimes they're just walking around Ba Sing Se and all of a sudden someone comes up to them out of nowhere. "Sokka?" they'll say, staring and starting to smile. "Sokka _Hakoda_?"

And Riku's dad always says _hello_, or _how are you_, usually with a big grin if it's really someone he knows. "I served in Battalion 93 in the wars," they explain—Riku's dad fought in the battles after Sozin's Comet, an important Water Tribe official. Then sometimes they're more specific. _I was there at the Day of the Black Sun_, a few have told him.

Rarely does Riku's dad smile if they say that. Riku doesn't know what happened on the Black Sun day, but he does know he's not allowed to ask. Anyway, his dad wouldn't talk about it. His parents don't really like talking about the war. All Riku really knows about is that his dad was fighting the Fire Nation rebels, so he wasn't there a lot when Riku was little. But it's okay now, because he doesn't leave any more. Even though it's been almost three years, Riku's dad still tucks him in every night, hugging him tight before he says good night . "I'll see you in the morning," he murmurs, voice soft like just that in itself is a tiny little miracle.

_(Truthfully? Every night, when he tucks his son into bed, that's exactly what Sokka thinks.)_

But sometimes when people stop to talk to Riku's dad, it's nothing to do with the war. Sometimes it's a friend, and sometimes they'll stoop and greet Riku too. "Spirits," a couple have even said, "Sokka, the kid's beginning to look just like you."

Usually Riku hates it when grown-ups talk like he's not there. "You get that from your mother," Riku's dad mutters whenever Riku interrupts, tugging insistently on a parent's arm. But when people say stuff like that, he doesn't mind as much. He thinks, he looks like his family. And he likes that.

_2. He likes his eyes especially because they're just like his dad's._

Bright blue eyes, he's got. Just like his dad and Aunt Katara and Grandpa Hakoda: they're Water Tribe eyes, people always tell him. Sometimes he gets people asking him which settlement he's from—_North or South Pole?_—and he's got to explain how he's lived in the Earth Kingdom for almost all his life. Born and raised here, he tells people, and they stop asking questions once he does. Usually.

Riku's dad loves having a son who's his spitting image. "You're lucky you've got my eyes," he said, the one time Riku mentioned it. "Girls used to love 'em when I was little."

From across the room, Riku's mom let out a loud snort. "It's true!" his dad protested. "Better my eyes than yours, Toph." When she didn't respond, he persisted, "Hey, you know what Ty Lee told me about my eyes the other day? She said they're soulful—that she could read my entire aura in them."

"Soulful?"

"_Soulful_, Toph."

Riku's mom tossed her head, flicking loose hair off her face. "Riku, ignore your father. He's an idiot."

"She said they had _depth_!" insisted Riku's dad, more of a whine than a real objection. "Exact words: _pools_ into my soul—"

"You won me over without the eyes," his mom said calmly. "I can't even see them."

That shut Riku's dad up.

_(Toph and Sokka are both thinking them same thing when Riku brings this up. How much have those eyes done to them? Taken a future and a husband from her, shattered his reputation, given them an impossible second chance. Now, Sokka looks at his son and knows someday he'll have to explain that—and Spirits, he never, ever wants to.)_

_3. Since he was born, Riku's traveled to all four nations—none of his friends have.  
_

Well, he lives in the Earth Kingdom, so that's easy. His mom's from the Earth Kingdom. She lived in a town, though, much smaller than Ba Sing Se. "What town?" Riku always liked to ask, whenever she's talking about it.

It's a little game they play. Just like always, she'd reply, "Boring place. You'd hate it." Once or twice, she's added, "I did," but if and when Riku tries to pursue that train of thought, she'll ruffle his hair and say, "Don't worry, Rik, it's not important."

His parents say that he went to the South Pole several times before he was four. He didn't have anyone else to live with then, because his mom was called back onto active duty two years after he was born. That meant, people explained to Riku, that she had to go help them stop the Fire Nation, who were partly good and partly evil, and yes, his mom would be home soon.

Certainly, that was fair. He knew it was his mom's job, and anyway, she'd be fine. She'd fought with Riku's dad in the Hundred Years War when she was just twelve: Riku knows because she tells some of the best stories he's ever heard, about Earth Rumble and training the Avatar and Sozin's Comet. Now Riku's old enough to understand that he should have been scared for his parents, out fighting the rebels, but then he didn't really understand much of anything.

Apparently he lived with his Aunt Katara and Uncle Aang for those two years. They traveled constantly, because Uncle Aang was important—Riku wasn't entirely sure why, but was impressed all the same—and perhaps half a year was spent in the Fire Nation.

So there's three nations. Best of all, though, were the couple times his aunt and uncle took him to the air temples. That he remembered: buildings that seemed to loom from cloudtops, not so much rising as floating above the rest of the world. He couldn't forget them.

He didn't remember his aunt and uncle very well, though, and so when he and his parents went to visit them a year later, Riku hid behind his father's legs. To his aunt and uncle, two years had transformed Riku from a nephew into a son, but Riku no longer knew them.

_4. His aunt Katara says he's an even better water octopus than his uncle Aang was._

That's changed over the last three years. His parents always figured he'd be a bender, what with his mom and everything—and if not, his dad always said, a boomerang was a great substitute—but never had they imagined he'd turn out how he did. He'd been able to make the snow dance into funny shapes back in the South Pole, sending flakes pirouetting with a choreographed sweep of his hand. Katara had perhaps seen but said nothing. Wind was always blowing on the tundra; it didn't have to mean anything.

When he was five, and back in the Earth Kingdom with his mom and dad, it occurred to him to try the same thing with the rain. Rain was like snow, wasn't it, just snow in a bad mood? And it was the middle of a blustery March day, and he'd be in trouble if he came back muddy, and so maybe if he waved his hands like _that_ then the water…

The water would flow neatly to the sides, never landing within a foot of him.

Riku's dad wrote to Aunt Katara and Aunt Katara arrived a week later, her entire face lighting up when Riku showed her how he could lift up a ball of water and hold it in midair. She taught him Waterbending, and after that Riku's whole family started to visit the South Pole a lot more.

_("Waterbending?" Her face was twisted; she threw up her hands. "What am I going to do? I don't know anything about that!"_

"_Toph—"_

_She pushed his hands away. "But I always thought he'd be an Earthbender," she blurted. "I figured I'd get to teach him—I _wanted _to teach him. I don't want Katara to have that instead!"_

"_You know how much it'd mean to her."_

_She shook her head slowly. "Katara got Riku for the last two years," she whispered. "I didn't get to see him for so long… Sokka, I think he forgot me. And now I have to give him back to her…"_

"_Toph?"_

"_What if he loves her more?"_

_The question tripped over itself, wrenched from the back of her tongue. Sokka stopped and hesitated and then smiled._ "_That won't happen," he promised. His heart rate stayed steady, but even if it hadn't, Toph couldn't have helped but to believe him.)  
_

So Riku learned to Waterbend. Aunt Katara told him he was really good, better than Uncle Aang even—which maybe isn't true because Uncle Aang's really important, but it's a nice thing to say anyway. His aunt and uncle still come to visit him every month or so, even after his mom and dad settled down in Ba Sing Se. Riku knew his aunt and uncle again, knew his whole family on his dad's side. In some back corner of his mind, he was aware that was only half his family, but for a long time, nobody ever mentioned his other relatives.

_5. He met his grandparents on his mom's side for the first time today._

It was a huge house. Riku had never seen one so big, except with Uncle Aang in the Fire Nation. There, they'd met a man called Zuko, tall and scar-faced who smiled hopefully at Riku and didn't seem to know what to do with kids. His house had been big, too.

The gardens made this one seem bigger. Amidst a sprawling estate squatted the house itself, a bullfrog hunkered in the center of its blooming lilypad. Riku's dad seemed nervous walking up the path to the front doors. Riku clung tight to his mom's hand, looking to her for reassurance, but she didn't seem to notice him. Her child was tilted stiff and high, set as though she had something to prove.

When they reached the door, Riku's mom knocked loudly and fearlessly, and after a moment an old man pulled it open. His eyes went huge and wide, moving slowly across the three of them.

_(The butler—Toph didn't know his name; maybe she had forgotten, and maybe she'd never asked—was nothing if not professional. After all, the Bei Fongs only hired the best. After a moment he stepped aside to let the three of them in, and it was as though years and years had never interfered with their simple routine of her bursting in, him nodding politely without a word, ready for damage control.)_

When they went inside, the old man led them to a parlor. Riku didn't know if he had ever been in a parlor before. "I shall fetch the master and mistress," said the butler, with a short dip of his head.

"I'll come." Riku's mom stood up, holding up the man in his tracks. "I should probably… come explain why we're here."

The old man's gaze moved past her to Riku. He had cold, intelligent eyes that sent a little chill down Riku's neck; suddenly timid, he clung tightly to his father. The butler pursed his lips, and then nodded. Wordlessly, he turned, and Riku's mom followed him out of the room.

A door opened and closed. A shout of surprise hit Riku's eardrums from far away, like a breath of wind, and then there were voices. Some were quiet, but some were louder.

He pulled abruptly away from his father's hand, ignoring a soft hiss of, "_Riku! Stop!_", and ducked through the doorway. The voices came from his left, growing more distinct as he hurried closer. From behind him came his name again—_Riku! Wait!_, an agonized whisper—but he didn't listen. He could hear his mom talking, just ahead.

"I know you don't approve," she was saying slowly, as Riku drew to a halt outside the door. "You don't have to, Dad. I just thought you should meet him."

"And I think we've made ourselves very clear on the matter already!" An old, thin man, clad in thick, swishing silk, was speaking. Riku could only see part of him around the door, but one yellowed hand protruded from the folds of silk, clutching tightly to a dragon-headed cane. The skin was papery, and the knuckles clenched and white.

"But he's your grandson!"

"He is _not_ my family!" The words tore from the old man's lips, and Riku's mom flinched faintly. In the hall, Riku's father had stopped chasing after his son, his breath coming suddenly in a short, sharp jerk.

"I've been married to Sokka for two years," said Riku's mom fiercely. "And this is our son. Whether you like it or not, Dad, they're still your family." Her voice came through gritted teeth. She was angry, Riku knew, angry and trying with all she could to keep her composure. "You know what his name is, Dad? Bei Fong. Riku Bei Fong. _Our_ family name—"

His name! All else aside, Riku realized, they were talking about him, and if his mom was talking about him then he should go see what it was all about, shouldn't he?

He stepped into the doorway.

"Riku!" yelped his dad from behind him, and his mom's jaw dropped, and the old man was shuffling closer, his lips curling back to reveal sharp, white teeth.

"That's the boy?" he said softly, but Riku's mom was motionless, pale as a ghost. "_That's the boy_?" The second time, he snarled it. Riku flinched, and Riku's mom nodded dazedly. The old man stared, his eyes seeming to burn holes through Riku where he stood.

"Get _out_!" he roared, and he seemed suddenly twenty feet tall, towering over Riku, huge and old and terrible. "Toph, get out of my house, and _take your filthy bastard child with you!_"

Riku ran.

_6. People sometimes call him that word—bastard—but he's not allowed to say it, and he just shouldn't listen when they do._

They were silent as they got into the carriage and began the drive off of the Bei Fong grounds. Riku's dad sat in the middle; Riku peered around to try and get a glimpse at his mom. She was almost entirely still, more a picture than a person, but every couple moments her shoulders seized upwards, accompanied by a soft, muffled noise. Riku stared and saw that her head was tilted away and down, towards the window, and that her whole face was blotchy and crinkled, like a used napkin. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes, and Riku's dad sighed quietly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Riku watched, and his mother went stiff and furious and then relaxed, limp and quaking slightly. She was making a damp, snuffly sort of noise, and Riku listened and understood suddenly that she was crying. He pressed his lips together and sat wide-eyed, afraid of what he suddenly knew.

"Toph," said Riku's dad quietly, from the corner of his mouth, and she lifted her head and saw Riku. Her eyes were red around the edges, and she rubbed hastily at them, reaching out to hold his hand. Her fingers were pale and calloused and gripped his tightly, almost enough to hurt but not quite.

"Mom?" he said, surprised to find his voice was shaking.

"Ssh," she murmured. "Ssh, Riku, it's okay."

Riku, content, squeezed her hand back and settled down into his seat.

_7. Sometimes his parents say it's okay, and really it isn't okay at all, but he needs to pretend it is_

and he does, because

_8. He loves his parents more than anything._

* * *

**If you read the chapter before last, consider it the sequel a bunch of you asked for. If not... well, it doesn't really matter. Scandalous Tokka pregnancy, is all you need to know.  
**

**There's one disclaimer I have to throw out there for this chapter, though. Personally—and yeah, I'm gonna opinion-spew now—I usually find it really disorienting when writers have come up with a massive future canon of their own (especially for a ship that, though I hate_hate_HATE to say it, isn't canonically mutual.) I'm prone to general fits of hypocrisy, but it's something that often turns me off stories, so I'm going to attempt not to go down that slippery slope.**

**Yeah, by now I consider Tokka, post-show, pretty much canon. That's about the end of it. I don't know if Riku's going to show up again. It's hard not to form a general idea of the Gaang's future—try as I do, Toph and Sokka always seem to end up living in Ba Sing Se—but don't worry. They beauty of 100 oneshots is that nothing's ever set in stone.**

**This has been a skrybble opinion blurb, to add to the collection, along with Beiber, Zutara, Katara, Suki, and whatever else I've ranted on. Again, sorry it's late (for once not my fault, though! _Yes!_) and reviews are always appreciated!  
**


	63. Why

**#85. Why**

**Argh... this one took me too long to write, which is weird, because I've had the idea forever and started it a while ago and _grrrr_. Well, it's here now. Takes place... oh, a week after Sozin's comet.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

* * *

Perhaps everything would have seemed different if it had been raining. It wasn't. It was a blustery, last-farewell-to-summer kind of August day, and though the air had a subtle chill in it, the sun still trailed soft, warm fingers across her shoulders. The wind was loud in a boisterous way. She had heard melancholy winds before, winds that howled and yowled and sobbed. This wind did not, in that respect dissimilar to the funeral-goers around her.

This wind swaggered and snagged a few snarled-up leaves from balding trees. Ashes danced alongside the leaves, across the fields and into the distance. When the wind blew near the town, it lifted flurries of cinders from the blackened ground, spinning them like charring snowflakes towards the sky.

No one was talking any more, but it still seemed too loud, and Toph wished that everyone would stop moving. Thousands of feet thudded against the earth around her. Not all of them—few, to be perfectly honest—were crowded around the same graves as her. Everyone had someone to mourn.

They had finished the burial a while ago. She had stood there through the whole thing, flinching every time a shovel of dirt landed on the stone coffins. The man doing the burying seemed uncomfortable under her stare, but he didn't dare say anything.

A few more people had been here for the ceremony. Plenty had stopped, perhaps on their way to other funerals, when they saw her there. The Boulder, of all people, had been passing by there. For a moment he didn't seem to believe it was her, but when he did he wavered and then plodded over. It was the middle of the ceremony, and he said nothing until they finished.

Toph had not known what to expect of Sokka, but her friend managed to restrain himself at the man's approach. Since Sokka had become something of a hero himself since last meeting the Boulder, and now the hulking man was just that, a tall, broad, anxious-looking man. "The Boulder… is sorry for the Bandit's loss," said the older earthbender after a moment, standing ramrod-stiff and nervous.

_The Bandit? _she wondered for a moment, and then almost laughed at the realization. _He doesn't know my name_. "Toph," she corrected quietly. "It's Toph."

There was a taboo; she had broken it. They weren't supposed to have names, or they weren't just competitors, but they were far less than friends. The Boulder, who was suddenly not looking at an Earth Rumble champion but at a little girl, found himself abruptly, acutely at a loss.

"Toph," he repeated, and then, "The Boulder is sorry."

"Thanks," she said dully, and was quiet. After a moment, the Boulder ducked his head and turned away.

It had been nice of him to stop, she would later realize. He probably had his own friend or family or boulders—whatever—to mourn. Since last week, everyone did.

A lot of people were still on their way here. Hell, she and Sokka had only gotten here today, and that was with leaving on Appa the moment they got the news. There was so much to do back in the Fire Nation—the Phoenix King and his daughter imprisoned, Aang and Katara caught up in diplomacy, Ozai's son about to take the throne—but Toph had left the moment Zuko told her the news. He had sounded horribly guilty. She could see why, and he really shouldn't have been, but she still couldn't manage to tell him it wasn't his fault.

Spirits, the funeral and its spectators was long gone, but everyone kept passing by, feet clomping against the earth, and she wished people would stop moving for a godforsaken moment. Not because she didn't want people around to see her like this, or that they were loud, or that everything was moving too fast already—none of that.

But every time a foot hit the ground…

Every time, she flinched, so softly that no one saw.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise. Ozai's airships had gone down right by the shoreline. It was a short swim to land, a short matter to secure transportation from the nearby villages and separate, a short ride to Gaoling from the coast. Of course they would target that. It was notable without being risky; it was agricultural but home to plenty of upper class citizens, a blow to the head and heart in one. It was a strikingly intelligent target.

It was her hometown they'd attacked.

And Lao and Poppy—stupid, stupid Lao and Poppy, who'd never dared hire anyone who could Earthbend and might corrupt Toph—had had nobody there who could put up a fight when the soldiers came. It was such a simple little change, but the troops were moving south instead of east like they'd planned, thrown off course because they'd been dropped out of their airships, and oh, of course, _whose_ fault had that been, again?

"Toph?"

Sokka touched her shoulder gently—not gentle in a brotherly, caring kind of way, but gentle in an _I'm-not-sure-if-you'll-hit-me_ sense—and after a pause she shrugged off his hand, a movement just enough to show she'd heard him. "Um," said Sokka from behind her. "It's… kind of dark, Toph."

She didn't reply. He would keep going if she let him.

"And, uh, cold," he added timidly, a moment later. "Most of the people have gone. Do you… want to head back soon?"

"I should have stayed," she mumbled.

He blinked. "In the Fire Nation? Toph, don't worry; I didn't mind coming, and they can do without us for a day or two—and hey, if worst really came to worst, Zuko'd understand if we missed the coronation—"

"Not there," she interrupted. "_Here_."

"I… what?" Sokka pressed his lips together. It really was cold outside now, even for summer. "I… well, if you want to stay… I mean," he tried again, taking a deep breath, "when I said it was dark, it was really just a suggestion, and I'm okay with staying as long as you want…"

"Not now!" she snapped, and her voice rang in the air. Sokka flinched in spite of himself. "I shouldn't have effing left," she continued, her voice wobbling like a tightrope walker, neither here nor there between clear and slightly choked. "If I'd been here… Spirits, Sokka, I could have been here to stop them!"

His face hardened. "That's not true, Toph. Without you, we couldn't have stopped the—"

He stopped himself just before _airships_, at last understanding. "If you had been here," he amended, "Ozai would have burned the Earth Kingdom to the ground. It wouldn't matter whether or not you'd fought in Gaoling. You couldn't have stopped him."

"You and Suki would've," she muttered. "And I would've pulverized them when they got here." It was impossible to miss the way her voice cracked faintly on 'pulverize', or the steel behind her voice. Sokka—who knew Toph as well as anyone—could not have said if she might have done what she said, only that she meant every word now.

"So what if we had?" he growled. "You couldn't have fought off an army, Toph. You would have died!"

He shocked himself as the words fell out, ugly and clumsy as moths flitting in the night air. Toph hesitated, and then abruptly collapsed on the ground, hunched over slightly on folded knees. The grass was littered through with fresh earth, scattered everywhere from the new graves, but it seemed the least of her worries to have some dirt on her black clothes.

"Least they wouldn't have died without me," she whispered, and he wasn't sure he was meant to have heard. As he watched, she began to drum her fingers against the ground, slowly and deliberately. "You know something?" she wondered, after a moment. "Their coffins are stone. Most people's aren't—most people can't afford that—but my parents got stone. Marble, I think."

Sokka was quiet. _That's nice_, he wanted to say, just to fill the air, but he could hear in her voice that no, it really, really wasn't.

"And if they were buried in wood, that would be okay," she continued, still in the same voice, flat and dull as polar ice. "But they're not. So anything anyone"—_tap_—"takes a step"—_tap—_"or even drums their fingers"—_tap_—"on the ground?" She paused, and her fingers came to a halt, suspended above the earth.

"I can see them. My… my parents. My mom and dad." The endearments sounded foreign in her voice. "I can _see_ them, Sokka. Their faces. They're burned, right? Burned, like… not all… _there_." Her voice shook on the last word, jumping up a split-second octave. "They're… they're just empty." She grinned frighteningly, the expression ripping her face like an open wound. "They're meat," she breathed. "My parents are meat."

Her hand thudded against the ground, fingers curling in slightly towards a fist. She breathed in slowly, and then her fist snapped shut and rose, and everything snapped into place, very clear and moving very slowly—

He leapt forward as a razor-sharp jut of rock exploded from the ground just in front of her, and with his arms around her they were skidding and collapsing into a heap on the cold grass, her pinned to the ground under him, her breath hitching in her throat. The moonlight made her look paler than he had ever seen her. Behind them, the spear of rock gleamed incriminatingly, just the right height and more than sharp enough to have gone straight through Toph's chest.

"What the _hell?_" he snarled, for the first time no longer caring how loud his voice was, how quiet the world around him had gone. "Toph, are you _kidding_ me?" His fingers dug into her shoulders, gripping tightly enough to have bruised. "That's _never_ the way to deal with this! Hey," he growled, for she stared with glassy eyes, too dazed to respond, "I don't care how upset you are, I don't care whether or not you could have changed it—you try anything like that again, and Toph, I will effing kill you _myself!_"

Toph's eyes went round, and began to glisten slightly, and then she blinked and a dribble of liquid ran down her cheek—and then abruptly she was crying, outright sobbing, breathing in loud, embarrassing gulps, shaking so hard she seemed ready to fall apart entirely at the seams. She had never cried like this, so loudly and artlessly, never looked so wildly out of control before, and for the first time Sokka knew that things were going to be all right. His hands slipped from her shoulders to around her back, and her pulled her closer, her tears muffled against his shoulder.

"We'll stay as long as you want," he promised softly.

And they did.

* * *

**OhmygoodnessguysIdon'tevenknow.**

**I swear to God this will be the last thing I do involving Toph and her parents and any kind of PTSD. I've been having a lot of fun recently experimenting with Toph's relationship with her parents—this dates back to that chapter (Reverse?) where she went evil—and wanted something of a contrast to the last chapter. Juxtaposition and all that.**

**Expect fluff next time. And maybe pancakes. No, really.  
**

**And to those of you whose reviews I didn't reply to, I'm sorry—I've been in and out of school trying to sleep off sickness (i.e., shingles. Effing shingles. Do _not_ get me started...) and making up homework in my free time. Please know that I appreciate all your feedback, and I try to reply to every one I can. Thanks, and feedback is always appreciated!**


	64. Night

**#69. Night**

**To get it out of the way: yes, night is number 69 and I think that's funny.**

**This particular chapter is real-world, and Toph can see. Also, it's dedicated to Georgia, i.e. my non-cute, Twi-hard little sister—****who will see it sooner or later, seeing as she stalks my life—**because for everything that we disagree about, she's mostly pretty cool, and making pancakes with her at midnight when I come home from school (entirely true story) is one of my favorite things in the world.  


**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

* * *

"One and a half cups all-purpose flour, three teaspoons baking powder, one teaspoon salt, one heaped tablespoon white sugar, one and a quarter cups milk, two eggs, and three tablespoons butter, melted."

"We don't have butter."

"We'll improvise."

Falling in love was a lot like making pancakes.

There was a rhythm to the way they moved around the kitchen, two spinning planets brushing each other's orbits. "Eggs," she said, and he passed her two; she cracked them expertly against the edge of the bowl, the yolks slopping luxuriously into the batter. Eggs were one of the only things Toph knew how to cook. She passed him the bowl, and he dragged the spoon through thick, gluey mix, adding another splash of milk.

As he did so, he considered this new thought with a vague, academic interest. It was the same basic recipe, parsed down to its roots. Two people. An introduction. Meet cute, and all. He gave the bowl back to her and watched her stirring, her eyes intently focused on the mix as it swirled against the bowl's edges. All the ingredients thrown together in a mix, churned artlessly together. You smoothed out the lumps if you could, and scrapped the batter if you couldn't.

"Hey," she called, "is the pan hot enough yet?"

Jolted from a half-reverie, he turned to the sink and twisted the tap, the old pipes squeaking protests from behind the walls. His fingers dipped in and out of the stream of water, and then he twisted towards the stovetop and flicked the droplets onto the frying pan. A pause, and then they erupted into little flares of white, bouncing eagerly up and down against the griddle.

"It's ready," he told her, and she dipped the ladle into the batter, pouring a generous dollop of pancake mix into the pan. It sizzled loudly from the moment it hit the pan, and Sokka's stomach rumbled in appreciation.

"You got the spatula?" she asked, but the batter sat motionless in the frying pan, small bubbles fizzling at the edges; she wouldn't need to flip it for some time. He only shrugged noncommittally.

"All right," she said, and leaned against the counter, glancing at the hallway door. "Hey, Katara won't mind that we're cooking, right?"

"Nah," he muttered. "She's already asleep. What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"Whatever you say." Toph paused, the faint, awkward beat between conversation topics. "So… how's school been?"

He grunted.

"That a, 'decent'?" She eyed him. "You get the exam results back?"

"Yeah."

"And? How'd you do?"

Hours if not days of studying, shoulders cramping, head bent low and eyed squinted at a textbook, pen scratching on paper, frantically penning notes, black, angular scrawl clinging to the paper's lines like a flock of bats—and all for a two hour test, all for a letter with which to answer her question. His face tightened. "Can we not talk about it?"

Another day, she might have pressed, '_that_ _bad?_', but she didn't. Instead she sighed and glanced towards the ceiling. Her hair fell loose down her back, traced faintly gold by the kitchen lights.

"Your hair's getting really long," he observed, and wasn't sure quite why he'd said it a moment later. It effectively changed the subject, but he hadn't had that in mind at all upon saying it. She glanced over, mild surprise on her face, and one hand reached up self-consciously to tug at a strand.

"Guess so," she agreed. "I need to get it cut soon, huh?"

"I didn't mean that," he tried to amend, but she reached for an elastic band around her wrist, combing her hair back with one hand and then twisting it up into an effortless bun. She was wearing jewelry, he realized suddenly, earrings that weren't particularly flashy but still big enough to tug at her earlobes. They couldn't have been comfortable, and she hadn't had them last time he'd come back to visit. Vaguely—still in sweats for the drive home—he wondered if somehow he was underdressed.

"How's your life?" he inquired, trying to shake the feeling of faint rebuff. "You still dating that kid from last time? What's-his-face?"

"Who?"

"You know. That guy." He struggled for adjectives. "Dark hair. Asked you to that dance?"

"Oh. _No_." She spoke sharply, forcefully. "No. Not anymore."

"You two break up?"

"Could we not talk about it?" she recited back. He frowned, but at the same moment she glanced back to the pan for some small mercy and found it—the pancake, exploding with little bubbles. "Spatula," she ordered, holding out a hand, and this time he passed it to her. She flipped the pancake over and inspected it dispassionately. "It's kind of burned."

"Turn down the heat a little."

Love. The first time you hurry into it without knowing entirely what you're doing, and half the time you let it burn too hot and char black in moments. What you're left with afterward is far from palatable, and you often scrap the mess, starting over more cautiously next time.

He ladled out the batter, this time into three smaller pancakes. The mix spat and hissed loudly as it hit the metal, and he looked anxiously at the clock. 11:52 PM. He hadn't even gotten in until 11:30.

"He was bicurious, apparently."

Sokka started, wondering frantically what part of the conversation he'd missed. "What?"

"The kid I was dating," she repeated, in a tone far too casual, and though her gaze was rooted to the frying pan, her eyes darted upwards once to assess his reaction. "Bicurious. Bisexual. One or the other."

"Oh." Sokka mulled this over briefly and then shrugged. "His loss, I suppose."

It seemed, in the half-light of the kitchen, that she had smiled for a moment, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He decided to forget it and not push his luck. "Here," he said, and reached for the handle of the frying pan; she passed it obligingly to him, along with the spatula.

"Don't know if they're cooked yet."

"We'll see."

But she was right, and when the pancakes flipped to crackle against the dark skillet they were an awkward, fleshy yellow, like sickly sunbathers not given time to tan properly. "My burned one was better than that," Toph snorted, and reached for the heating dial, letting the flame under the oven rings bounce a little higher.

_Move too slowly_, he mused, examining the pancakes, _and miss an opportunity. You don't get anywhere being too cautious either._ As he watched, she flipped each pancake back, pressing them against the pan one last time, and then heaped them onto a plate on the counter. "I'm sure they'll be okay with syrup," she reassured him, when she caught him watching, and he made a vague noise of agreement. Surprisingly, she grinned.

"Let's make a big one this time."

"Third time lucky?"

"Why not?"

The batter drizzled leisurely into the pan, bulging like a massive white mushroom as it spread to cover the pan's diameter; a cacophony of sizzling and spattering bubbles filled both their ears. "I don't think the spatula's big enough," Sokka observed.

She smirked. "I was counting on it."

_And sometimes you've got to aim a little high, right? Take a risk or two that looks stupid at the time. Because sometimes—_

"Should I flip it now?"

"Go for it."

Toph grabbed the handle, hefts the pan off the glowing orange coil.

_it's not really about the ingredients, or how close you are to burning_

She snatched up his hand suddenly, tugging it down so that it clasps over hers, larger and infinitely less clever, on the handle. He was yanked against her, his arm folded around hers. "Three… two…" she counted, bouncing the pan experimentally up and down.

_it's really just_

"One…"

"Now!" he urged, and she flicked her wrist and his with it, and their pancake flew up out of the pan, twisting and rippling like a jellyfish, like a scarf tossed into the air, and arced…

_a matter of_…

Reflexes?

_Timing._

It fell—_splat_—into the pan again, and Toph's laugh was priceless.

At 12:07 AM that night, or perhaps that morning, in a kitchen lit mostly by midnight, they ate pancakes drowned in syrup, and a metaphor nagged at him, wriggling restlessly through the subsoil of his mind. He went back to college at the end of the long weekend, and when he kissed Suki hello, he thought she was beautiful, but she didn't taste like home again, like a nocturne of crackling batter and loud, bold laughter. Somehow he knew Toph would.

* * *

**So we're doing extended metaphor in English class... and that's really all I have to say about this ^_^ **

**Took a while because fluff is harder than angst to write, but I hope it turned out all right, and reviews are always appreciated!  
**


	65. Unyielding

**#87. Unyielding  
**

**Except... not, Orpheus.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

* * *

One footstep. Another. They echoed in his ears, loud and hollow, so _goddamn_ loud. He lifted his booted foot and placed it, again, weight rolling across the muscles in the soles of his feet, a dull flash of pain coursing along his exhausted legs.

He ached to turn and knew, beyond any doubt, that he couldn't.

_It had been cold for quite some time before it began to get dark, but as soon as it was dark, it seemed it had been that way forever. It was a chill that ate like a worm through to his bones, freezing his blood in his veins. He didn't get cold easily, ever, but this cold wasn't a natural kind. That he could tell; that he had known, even as he breathed on his hands and willed them warmer._

_The path simply went down, and down, and down, and continued going, lolling out before him like the gullet of some massive monster. A long time ago he had lost ability to block such images, and a while ago he had at last become numb to them. _

_He walked in what should have been complete darkness, but there were blurs of white around him, not so much figures as person-shaped distortion in the air. Sometimes he could see them from his peripheral vision, if he wasn't trying too hard. Some were old; some were young. One of them, close to him, was missing half her ribcage. Another before her, a man covered in bloated burn scars, didn't have a face anymore._

_He had kept his eyes focused straight ahead. _

_Slowly the path widened. Sometimes he was aware of smaller paths joining it from either side, and sometimes it seemed simply to expand as he walked, one foot and then the other. The blurs that might have been people pressed closer together, and when they nudged against him he could not quite feel them, but they left a sticky, clammy sensation on his skin like the brush of cobwebs._

Keep going. It was so cold still, even though this time he walked uphill on a perfectly empty path, every step jolting his entire frame. Keep going. Don't think about anything but walking, and whatever you do, don't you dare turn your head.

His footsteps pounding in his ears, each one like a gunshot. He was the only one walking there; he was sure.

_Nothing could have kept him walking in the crowd of white but her. Desperation only took a little alchemy to become determination, and he had never been so determined in his life. The Spirit World was easier to get to if you weren't trying—he knew that from Aang—but if you really wanted to get in, _that_ badly, if you tried hard enough, they'd take you anyway. Maybe they thought it was entertaining._

_If nothing else, he knew he was in the right place. No other spirit would have a realm like this. Not even the Face-Stealer, from what he'd heard, was this bad. When he turned and found himself in the Spirit World, his foot dropping into a marsh that froze into tundra that melted and writhed and sprouted into a field in the blink of an eye, he had simply begun to walk downhill. He wasn't sure when he had begun to be underground, only that it seemed he had forever. That was how you got to a place like this.  
_

_She would have loved all this rock. She could have seen for miles, and she would have told him how much longer he had to walk._

_Suddenly, so much so it could not have been entirely real, the walls were gone from either side of him. Sokka took a step forward and found himself in a room larger than a sky, with gray, craggy walls stretching upwards until blackness ate them whole. They were honeycombed with holes through which the white figures poured from all sides. The floor, stretching beyond sight, was lit by hundreds of thousands of—and at last he had no choice but to think the word—ghosts, their light the eerie luminosity of glowworms. In the middle, on a crag that jutted from the floor to dizzying heights, stood the figure in black._

The figure he had left miles behind, but the shadow burnt in his mind still lingered like a stain. Sokka squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness: it did not help, and he had not expected it to.

_He hadn't known what to expect. They called this spirit a raven in the Earth Kingdom, and a phoenix in the Fire Nation, and in the Water Tribe he was simply a man robed in black, a hood casting shadows over his face but his eyes—bright gold—still unmistakable. Sokka was not quite sure what he saw in the dark, with the light not entirely showing the spirit on top of the crag, but he remembered bright yellow eyes that fixed directly on him, in a sea of millions. He went very still as the voice carried through the cavern.  
_

"_What," rasped Death, "is a human doing in my kingdom?"_

_Sokka opened his mouth, and for a moment no sound came out. He didn't think to wonder if Death would hear him—he knew It would. "I'm here for Toph Bei Fong," he answered, voice only shaking a little bit._

_The golden eyes flared like candles. "Indeed?" Death's voice was whispery and hoarse, as a skeleton might sound, words passing over bone rather than lips. "She belongs to me now. What makes you think I would be willing to give her up?"_

"_I… I don't know." Those eyes seemed to yank the words out of his throat. Quickly, he drew himself up straighter, desperate to compensate. "There's a story," he said. "A legend, about a man whose wife died. He traveled to the Spirit World to get her back." He knew this story. The man hadn't gone to the funeral, and neither had he. There was no point in saying goodbye if he didn't intend for it to be their last time together._

_Death stared at him. Sokka had been expecting anger, but even braced himself for the possibility that Death would laugh at him instead. To see neither was a thousand times worse; it reminded him that the eyes locked on his weren't human. "Did you come here because of a story?"_

_It wasn't quite mocking, but with the words in Death's deadpan voice, Sokka wasn't sure for a moment. "No," he replied at last. "I came to get Toph back."_

_Never lifting his gaze, Death shifted slightly, a motion somewhere between a ruffle of feathers and a ripple of fabric. Sokka began to notice suddenly how high up the spirit—or perhaps god—sat perched, and how large It really was._

"_I know you," It hissed, after a moment. "Sokka of the Water Tribe. I have known many of your people over the years."_

_Sokka's teeth gritted. "You knew my mother."_

"_Did I?" Death blinked leisurely, eyes sliding in and out of shadow. "Perhaps so. I have little time to concern myself with individuals; I only said I had known your people. But you are here, and I know who you are. You are a warrior, are you not?"_

He didn't feel like a warrior. He felt cold, and his feet hurt, and he… he…

_A shiver ran down Sokka's spine. There was something in the way Death said _warrior_, something distinctly menacing. For a moment, all the ghosts seemed to tremble, as if ready to converge on the intruder in their midst. The likelihood that he might not see the human world again occurred, not for the first time, to Sokka, and to his faint shock, he felt heat pooling in his stomach, the unmistakable warmth of anger. He wasn't scared to be trapped here, but he'd be damned if he left without Toph after coming this far. _

_Without taking his eyes off Death's, he reached to his belt where his sword hung. It wasn't his space sword, which didn't much bother him. He'd lost that at the same time he'd lost Toph, and the one failure paled in comparison to the other. The golden eyes narrowed, and then a rasping stutter of breath filled the cavern, which Sokka realized after a moment was laughter._

"_I do not take souls before their time," Death informed him. "I might do so, with one already in my kingdom, but it does not suit me well. You have many years to live yet, Sokka. Go and pass them in your own world."_

_His hand had not left his sword, fingers drumming on the hilt. "Not without her."_

And he was so effing close now…

_Death was silent a moment. "I… am impressed by your resolve," It conceded at last, "but you speak out of turn. You are an invader here."_

"_I'll fight you."  
_

_A stir traveled through the crowd of ghosts, spreading like ripples on a pond, and Death shifted again, this time—if Sokka was not mistaken—in faint discomfort._

"_Enough," it rasped. "You are disturbing my kingdom, and I have no wish to fight a human child. For your dedication..." It paused, and then at last conceded, "You may have her soul, on the condition that you leave and return only once more to my realm." The eyes twinkled slightly, part of some invisible grin. "And next time, you will not be leaving."_

And the other condition… the one other condition that had seemed so simple…

"_Turn around," Death said softly, "and she will follow you out. However, you must keep walking. Do not look back, or she will disappear again."_

"_I understand," he answered, although he didn't, and he turned around. The path he had arrived on was gone, and in its place was a tunnel, devoid of spirits, large enough only for him. Squaring his shoulders, he began to walk._

_He walked._

_And walked._

_And walked. _

_His footsteps beat a path through caverns and along the edges of canyons, all barely visible, painted in shades of black. Somehow he could not see and yet knew where to walk, along paths no human had traveled before. He walked for miles, until _his legs ached and his eyes struggled to pick out details in the blackness and his bones ached with cold. He could hear only one set of footsteps, his own, and with every moment the ache to turn grew stronger.

Death hadn't like him. Spirits, who lived forever in their own worlds, could afford to be cruel to humans. This had to be a joke, where Sokka would reach the surface to find that he'd escorted himself out of the Spirit World.

He continued to walk, plodding along the edges of gullies and scaling overpasses no wider than his feet, and every step he took convinced him further that she wasn't with him. Toph was as solid and grounded as they came: even as a ghost, she would leave footprints. If she didn't, she couldn't see, and she wouldn't be following. She was not really there at all, he decided, but still he walked. It was all he had left to do.

At last, after what felt like years—even though, as he recalled sluggishly, time passed differently in the Spirit World—the shadows began to recede around him. He hardly noticed until suddenly the cave was light again, walls gray and craggy around him. Abruptly, he turned a corner and light struck him like a hammer blow, sunlight, shining through an exit less than ten feet away.

He had gotten out, he told himself. With or without Toph, he had seen Death and lived through it, and that was something.

_No, it isn't_.

_Yes,_ he told himself fiercely, _it is._ He took another step forward, his feet so sore they seemed numb by now, disconnected from the rest of his body. She wasn't there, he reminded himself, hating that fact that he couldn't stop hoping completely. How could she be? She saw through vibrations, and if there weren't feet to make a sound, there sure as hell weren't vibrations for her to see with. And she would have said something, if she were. Like Toph could be quiet for a trip this long.

It was his last chance. If he stepped out into the sunlight without her, he'd never get her back. He didn't dare pause—if he did he risked losing his nerve—and turned to start back. He wasn't leaving without her.

Their eyes met.

For one split second, she _saw_ him. He knew it. He had no idea how, but her eyes at last had the focus, the recognition in them that he'd never seen from her before. For the longest moment of his life, looking over his shoulder, Sokka stared at her, and she stared back.

And then, just as she began to open her mouth, she vanished.

Sokka tried to breathe, but there was no air any more. He lurched forward, into the light, finishing the step he'd been halfway through taking, and only when his foot touched real, solid earth did he allow himself to fall to the ground.

* * *

In the darkness, a thousand miles below and beyond the ground, she blinked hard, once and then twice, a motion that might have been perceived as suppressing tears if not for the huge, lopsided grin on her face. She hadn't dared believe it until the light struck them, but Death had let her see to follow him. And when he turned... he'd been all lit up in sunlight: his face, his hair, his eyes. She'd seen colors.

The name of one in particular danced at the fringe of her mind. It began with a p… or no, maybe a b, but something that popped on her lips. What was the word for that rich, cold color, half like water and half like ice? It was the color of his eyes, just for a moment, meeting hers a step from sunlight.

She sat in the dark, looking out over a sea of black and white, and thought to herself of blue; and sixty years, eight months, and thirteen days later, she saw that blue again.

* * *

**I figure—for any nitpickers wondering if I thought it out—that if you die and become just a soul, you're freed from physical handicaps like deafness or blindness. Which is why Toph can see. I was planning to work it in there, but it was long enough as it was.**

**Anyhow, wanted to try experimenting with mythology, which for some reason I've always been very geeky about. Always frustrates me to no end to read stories with endings like this, but somehow less so to write them. And Sokka is Orpheus not because he's the boy, but because, as my sister put it well, "Toph's too smart to worry about looking. Sokka... is Sokka."  
**

**All absences/lateness of updates should be blamed on my discovery of a website where I can watch actual high-quality dub episodes of FMA: Brotherhood. Apologies in advance (though I'm not particularly sorry ^_^) and reviews are always appreciated! **


	66. Tolerance

**#38. Tolerance**

**Because Hakoda doesn't get enough love, and being Sokka's dad has got to take some tolerating.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

* * *

Fishing had always made Hakoda feel faintly insignificant.

This was not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it was nice, the old man mused, not to feel important. There were times when a man was called upon to act, of course, but then there were these times, when he could sit in his canoe in the silence. Everything was very still here, close and yet distant, in a place where sea and sky melted together at faraway horizons, whitecaps stretching up into clouds. On bright days the sunlight glaring off the icy shore was enough to nearly blind a man, but today was cloudy if not too cold.

Thoughts came slowly here, pleasantly so, in little spurts, flutters of motion like butterflies. Hakoda, of course, would not have said butterflies. He had never seen one. They might as well have belonged to another world, or maybe a dream, where the only real world was this little boat in a sea wider than any man's imagination.

Hakoda did not concern himself with dreams. He did not think about worlds, nor the silent marriage of sea and sky. He sat quietly in his canoe. His thick, clever fingers worked the line. Feet away, his little float bobbed on the waves. He enjoyed the quiet. He enjoyed being a small man in a large place. Actions did not matter quite so much here. It was pleasant thing to know.

Unfortunately, fishing had always made Sokka feel restless.

The boat teetered faintly as, again, Hakoda's son shifted in his seat. His lips were pressed together, opening and then shutting, each time with a little puff of a sigh. Frost flickered and died in front of his mouth with each breath.

The father sighed.

"What is it?"

Sokka jumped and the boat lurched worryingly. Hakoda let out a long, slow breath. "It's all right," he said after a moment. "You can talk. I'd imagine you're thinking so hard it's scaring the fish away anyway."

Sokka's eyes found his father's, and for a moment he tried to lie, but words wouldn't come. Sokka didn't know if he could fool his father, and perhaps didn't want to think he could.

"Is it the war?"

"No."

"Is it being here?" This question was carefully cast, a colorful lure not quite hiding the hook glinting beneath. Hakoda knew, of course, that Sokka would not stay in the South Pole forever. The boy had responsibilities, and it was a father's job to respect that. Hakoda would never ask his son to stay.

That didn't mean he wanted him to go either.

"It's not here," Sokka said halfheartedly. "I like it here."

"Sorry, I didn't realize that was your enthusiastic face."

It took Sokka a moment to detect the sarcasm, and when he did he ducked his head. "I… there's nothing wrong with the South Pole. I like coming here." He stared at the water, mumbling after a moment, "It's less complicated here."

The mutter, just loud enough to be audible, was desperate teenage bait, and Hakoda wasn't stupid. "What's less complicated?"

Sokka blushed furiously. "Just… stuff."

Hakoda paused carefully, fingers still tugging lightly at his line, before venturing, "Is this… about a girl?"

Surprising no one, Sokka went even redder. "Dad," said the boy, sounding something less than his sixteen years, "how do you know if a girl likes you?"

"_Ah_." Hakoda took a long, slow breath, letting it out through his nose. A tiny wisp of white shaded the air beneath his nostrils, dissipating in seconds. "Question for the ages, that one."

Sokka cringed. "_Dad_…"

Hakoda chucked weakly, an attempt to save face; in fact, he'd been completely serious. Given any other subject—fishing patterns or booby traps or how to skin and cook leopard seal—he would be delighted to explain it to his son, but this was one area in which he had never specialized.

One of the things he'd always secretly loved about Kya was her down-to-earth nature, how she knew enough just to tell him what she was thinking. It was just as well she had; Hakoda had been no better with women at fourteen than he was at forty, and might never have managed to talk to her otherwise. Even now he had trouble with Katara, and he'd known the girl all her life. And Sokka…

Safe in the knowledge that Sokka was paying him no mind, Hakoda spared a brief, sad glance for his son. The boy was more grown-up at sixteen than Hakoda had been at twenty, and frankly, both were in equal position to counsel the other. But he was a father, and even though he liked being insignificant, a blue speck in a world of sea and sky, that wasn't his job here. His job when Sokka was only a child had been to leave to fight, and his job now that his son was grown up was to damn well make up for it.

"Well," he said uncertainly, "is she… affectionate?"

Sokka hesitated. "What does you mean by 'affectionate'?"

"Well… does she try to spend time with you? Or smile or laugh a lot, or…" Hakoda flailed, grasping at straws. "I mean, is she… touchy?"

"_Touchy?_" Sokka sounded appalled.

"_Demonstrative_," Hakoda blurted, much too desperately, and then could have kicked himself. Or died. Perhaps the latter, which would probably have been less painful.

"She's, eh… well, she's not the most… demonstrative person," Sokka muttered, after a long and tangible silence. "I mean, she's sort of… what if I said, not _stoic_, but… not exactly _emotional_. Um. Or _touchy_." Following a moment's consideration, he added, "She hits people to show affection, she says. Punches. In a friendly kind of way, I mean."

Privately, Hakoda decided that that was unquestionably the strangest form of affection he'd ever heard of, and outwardly he said, "And… she punches you?"

"She punches me more than anyone," Sokka elaborated brightly. "Harder, too."

"So she either loves you or… hates you?"

Sokka's face, previously almost a smile, dropped abruptly back to despair. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, slamming his hands down against the seat, and the boat rocked frantically. "I don't know if she likes me or hates me, and then she'll do something nice, and then suddenly she'll stop talking to me, and I never know… _ergh!_" His head dropped into his hands. "Dad," he mumbled, "girls are so _complicated_."

Hakoda wavered, still toying with the fishing line, though he had long since abandoned any hope of catching something. "You, uh, really like this girl, don't you?"

Sulkily, through thick fingers. "I wish I didn't."

Hakoda grinned with a hopeful joke. "She out of your league?"

"She's my best friend."

"Ah," said the father slowly, and then, when he realized he had no other answer, "_Ah_."

"And I don't want to risk that."

"Of course."

"But… Dad, I really like her."

"Uh-huh."

"It's just… it's so confusing, because I can't tell her, but I can't _not_ tell her, right?"

"Mm."

"You do know that 'penguin-sledding' was Aang and Katara's codeword for going off to the bay to suck each others' faces off, right?"

Hakoda spluttered and nearly dropped the fishing rod, whirling to face his son. "_What?_"

Sokka's hands flew into the air, a hurried surrender. "I didn't know if you were listening!"

"I'm trying!" Hakoda snapped, an unintentional last option, with tact a moment late and the air around inhospitable to humor. "It'd be easier if you'd stop whining and say something worth listening _to_!"

It was just like with the thoughts out here: everything happened slowly, one small thing at a time. Sokka stared. His hands fell limply to his sides. "I…" he started, and trailed off. Hakoda closed his eyes, head dropping towards his chest. He took a deep breath through his teeth.

"Sokka," he murmured, "I didn't mean…"

Sokka's voice was tight. "S'alright. We don't have to talk."

"Sokka—"

"I get it."

"You don't." It came out sharper than Hakoda meant. He hesitated a moment, struggling. "I'm not good at this," he blurted at last. "This… talking. Your mother would have been, but I can't…?"

"Dad," Sokka repeated, softly this time, "I _get_ it."

A beautiful, painful experience: realizing your son is mature.

A beautiful and infinitely humbling experience: realizing your son is more mature than you are.

Gruffly, Hakoda cleared his throat. "I think I liked it better when we talked about fish."

"That was easier," Sokka agreed amicably, and Hakoda knew the boy understood. It was quiet. Hakoda toyed halfheartedly with the fishing line, and the waves slapped gently against the sides of the canoe.

"And Sokka, this… girl?"

"Yeah?" He was trying too hard to sound nonchalant.

"You should say something." _You're better at this than I am._

"I'll do that."

The link between fishing and fathering: both had always made Hakoda feel faintly insignificant. In the middle of the sea, edges melting up into sky, it was easier to feel small, and harder to feel clever, especially when actions mattered more than he liked. He watched the water with tired, grateful eyes, and thought that if nothing else, thank goodness his son had turned out all right.

* * *

**So I always like the stories where there's some kind of focus on a different (i.e. non-Tokka) character, and I realized finally that that was just because I've spent so much time writing Toph and Sokka that it's a lot of fun to explore some different characters too. So then I figured Hakoda was random enough, and I had this big father-son heart-to-heart about girls in mind.  
**

**But then that didn't work, and it turned into a piece much more about Sokka's dad than Sokka's love life. Which I hope is okay. Reviews are incredible, as always!  
**

**also: ONE DAY TIL SUMMER VACATION, AWW YEAH!  
**


	67. Elemental

**#11. Elemental**

**I'm sure this plot has been done before, but it seemed to go with the prompt, and I was happy enough just to be able to write. In other news, I ordered Dragon Age: Origins and it's officially the stupidest thing I've ever done, because it's eating my life. And if I start writing about it, then I will never ever stop (this I know) so I'm restraining myself... it's a challenge. **

**If there are any technical facts here that are wrong (or I spelled chakras wrong?) do please tell me.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

* * *

"I'm just saying, air's _everywhere_. What happens if you run out of water?"

"I wouldn't!"

"But what if you did?" It was a rare, faintly refreshing change to see Aang look so competitive. "Say… say you're back in the desert. What are you going to do if you're attacked and there's no water?"

"I… would think of something," protested Katara. "There's moisture in the air I could use..."

"Sorry?" Aang grinned. "Moisture… _where?_ In the _what?_"

"For the Avatar, I think you've got a pretty _biased_ view of bending—"

"Aang actually does have a point, but fire's... uh, it's just as good in that respect. It's not like I can run out. I don't rely on an outside force; I produce it myself."

All heads but one turned, slightly surprised, towards Zuko. He sat slightly awkwardly on a log of his own, small holes in the dirt where he'd been scuffing his feet. After only a couple weeks with the group, he still seemed distinctly uncomfortable around them: every moment, he oscillated between feeling the need to prove his loyalty and the need to apologize, neither of which was particularly fun for any of the Gaang. To see him join in a conversation—let alone to defend firebending—was unexpected at the least.

Aang shrugged. "What if it gets too cold?" he challenged. "That limits firebending, right?"

"Only in extreme cold," Zuko retorted. "And there have to be times when you can't airbend, right?"

Aang glanced upwards, looking thoughtful. "I don't know," he said finally. "As long as I can breathe, I can bend, I think. I've managed with my hands and feet tied."

"But you can breathe fire too!" Seeing the looks on everyone's faces, Zuko added hurriedly, "I mean, no, _I_ can't, but Iroh can, and I have seen him—"

"Here's the thing," broke in Katara loudly. Though not quite excessive, her interruption was slightly too deliberate, too pointed. Zuko stopped, mouth still open a little bit, and then quickly fell silent. "Air and fire are just… those. You can't change them. Water can be water, or ice, or steam—and you can heal if you need to," she pointed out, shooting meaningful looks at every member of the group. At one point or another, she'd taken care of injuries—or at least, offered to do so—for all of them.

Sokka remained silent. This was one of those times, he thought to himself, where it sucked to be the boomerang guy. Sure, sure, he'd gotten his sword lessons, and that was plenty cool, but conversations about the best element were never going to be easy.

"Toph, what about you?" Aang gaze turned to the only bender who hadn't spoken up. "Don't you want to defend earthbending?"

Toph lounged a few feet away on the ground, propped up against a rock. It was worth noting that, though she sat a few feet away, she was the nearest to Zuko out of any of them. For much of the conversation, she had been so quiet she could easily have been asleep. Her eyes, however, were wide open, directed idly towards the canopy of leaves above them. They did not move, but narrowed slightly at the question.

"What's to defend?" she shrugged. "Earthbending's the best." She must, in her too-clever way, have sensed Katara's response, because she added, "It's plenty versatile. I can bend dirt or sand or rock or metal. And you don't run out of earth, so that's not a problem either."

"That's not true," Katara snapped. "What if you're stuck in a wooden building? Or at the South Pole? And there's no earth?"

"But I don't _go_ where there's no earth." The reply was toneless, but Toph's accompanying sneer made her contempt plain.

Katara scowled. "That's not the point. If you did, you couldn't bend."

"Or _see_, smartass. So I don't go to those places. So it's not a problem."

Katara was about to reply, but, "Okay, tiebreaker," Aang interrupted, slipping quickly back into his role as mediator. Toph allowed herself a small frown, faintly disappointed. "Non-bender," Aang continued, turning his gaze to Sokka, "what do you think? What's the best element?"

Sokka paused, glancing once around the campfire. Zuko had already begun to stare at his feet again, knowing as well as anyone that once a popularity contest began, he was out of the running. Aang, likewise, looked doubtful, but Katara had a fierce expression on her face, raising her eyebrows as if challenging him. And Toph…

Toph wasn't looking at him, naturally. Her face was turned upwards towards the arching branches overhead, and the stars hidden past the trees. He swallowed slowly and then said, "Water, I think."

Katara beamed, and Aang looked faintly crestfallen. Toph frowned and then sat up slightly straighter, and he could see in a moment that he'd touched a nerve. "It's not a Water Tribe thing," he added quickly, starting to see the frowns forming on all faces but his sister's. "I just think it's the most useful. Come on, nearly all the elements are everywhere. Water's second most common, after air, and it's got more forms too. That's just tactical."

Toph raised her voice suddenly. "What about always having the terrain advantage? That's useful."

"You have to appreciate that," Zuko nodded. "I know I don't have your experience, Sokka, but when Uncle and I were on the run I fought with swords instead of firebending. Done right, I think bending should augment your fighting, not overtake it. Having control of terrain is a huge advantage in a fight."

He watched Toph hopefully as he spoke, Sokka noticed. Even if Zuko walked on eggshells around them, around Toph he was not so much uncomfortable as horribly nervous. The knowledge that she had tried to help him and guilt of burning her feet had mixed to form a desperate, grateful politeness to her. Whether or not they liked each other, it was clear that Zuko respected Toph a great deal.

"Sure, but water is a consistent advantage. It's as common as air, and it's a lot more versatile." _Air's versatile!_, Aang began, but was shushed. "And you can use water to change terrain anyway. I just don't see what earth can do that's special."

"Okay," said Toph suddenly. "I get that it's adaptable and that it's common. But if you're not living on a polar ice cap, so is earth. What makes water more versatile than that?"

"It can incapacitate—"

"Earth can do that."

"Or take out big groups, without killing anyone—"

"Earth could do that too."

"Or shelter—"

"I can do that _better_."

He took a deep breath through his nose. "Fine," he said, voice low and frustrated. "Fine. I don't like to say this, but it's true that there's some stuff only waterbenders can manage. Only they could bloodbend, right?"

"Sokka!" He blinked in surprise to hear his sister's voice. "That's awful!" she hissed, leaning forward with her _what-do-you-think-you're-doing_ glare in full force. "There's a line; that's not something bending should ever be used for!"

"But it can," he replied harshly. "I'm being tactical. I think waterbending has the most uses." Scowling at Toph, he added, "I don't see what's special about rock, is all. It doesn't seem very useful."

She snorted. "Maybe not, if you can see."

The comeback silenced anyone who had been planning to speak. The fire crackled and a popping twig sent a little flurry of sparks into the air, abrupt and loud to the suddenly quiet group. "Um," Aang mumbled at last. "It's a little late. We should probably get some sleep."

"Good idea." Katara stood, reaching for her satchel of water. "I'll get the fire."

"Don't bother." Even as Katara reached for the cap, Toph slammed a fist against the ground. A neat circle of earth dropped away in front of them, swallowing the fire whole, and then the sides of the hole melted closed above it. Katara opened and then closed her mouth, tucking the water back away.

"Thanks, Toph," she managed, but the younger girl was already walking away, in clear search of a flat piece of ground to camp on away from the others.

Sokka watched her go, swallowing a groan. It was too easy to forget how important bending really was to Toph, considering how much she often downplayed it. He couldn't think of her as crippled, really, because she wasn't—just she used different methods. Rarely did he consider what might have happened to her if she couldn't bend, beyond 'Aang would need a different teacher, then'.

He surveyed the campground quickly, satisfied to find that no one was paying him attention any more. "Toph?" he called, not too loudly, as he stood. "Hey, Toph?"

She stopped at the first time he said her name and folded her arms at the second, so he knew she'd heard. "Sorry I… got kind of competitive," he mumbled. "I think all bending is useful, and I know you… you do a lot more than most earthbenders with it. I still think that's impressive."

"Glad to have your approval," she drawled, making no effort to be quiet. "I guess if my element still sucks, it's good to hear that I make the best of it anyway."

_Spirits_. She was more difficult than Katara, and that was saying a lot. "That wasn't what I meant. Look, I'm just being tactical. Water's more versatile."

"Sure," she said, after a moment. "I get it. Hey, c'mere."

She had begun to walk away from the others' tents, towards the forest. He hesitated, but faint suspicion paled against the hope of winning this debate before going to sleep. It was very dark, and he picked his way carefully through the foliage to where she stood. "Yeah?"

"_Tactically_ speaking," she observed coolly, "it's not that smart to be alone in the dark with a potential threat, is it?"

Before he could respond, before the words could even register, she stomped once, and the ground under his feet dropped away, leaving his stomach somewhere in his throat. Rock shifted and then contracted around him on all sides, leaving him wedged in up to his neck. He opened his mouth, but she tilted her head thoughtfully and then ground her foot into the dirt. He plunged another half-foot, the dirt covering his mouth.

Toph knelt down next to him, a faint sheen of moonlight illuminating her face, and grinned.

"I do what I can with earthbending," she said cheerfully, and ruffled his hair, deliberately skewing his ponytail to the side. He squirmed and protested against a mouthful of dirt, but she only patted his cheek, stood again, and sauntered back towards the campsite.

When Aang found him in the morning and let him out, the monk didn't say anything, but there was a general consensus that Sokka had had it coming.

* * *

**So hey... I published this chapter and then decided a few hours later that it was probably at least less cliché if Sokka_ didn't_ actually pick earth. For anyone who already read the previous version, consider that a bonus chapter? Anyway, there you have it.  
**

**Awkward!Zuko might my favorite kind of Zuko (tied with Zuko in ultimate badass mode.)  
**

**Reviews are always appreciated!**

**p.s. Worth a mention that it's the 67th chapter? Two-thirds point reached!  
**


	68. Sound

**#5. Sound**

**Fourth of July fireworks are awesome. But probably not so much if you're blind. Ya know how it is—or, well, hopefully you don't... I'll just stop now.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

* * *

The worst part, she decided, pressing her palms tighter over her ears, was the aftershock. She could have dealt—maybe—with the erratic booms like thunderclaps, like a toddler trying to stomp out a changing rhythm, but the sound ricocheted off the hills around them, an even louder bang trailing the first. Hunched against the wall, in between two of the palace gardens' magnificent flowerbeds. It was too humiliating to have to sit like this in front of everyone else out on the main lawn, where a massive crowd was _ooh_-ing and _ah_-ing at the sky.

A few people had tried to explain this fire in the sky that was making pictures, or something like that; she'd just cringed again as another bang rattled the sky. She hated the way that a boom in the sky still sent a little tremor through the pit of her stomach. It shuddered through her, like someone was beating a drum inside her ribs, banging against the inside of her chest.

Of course everyone else was okay with the sound. Of _course_. It would have been okay if some of them had minded, but even the littlest children, who'd originally been scared, had begun to catch on and cheer with the rest. Just seeing the light, apparently, gave some forewarning to the boom, or at least took the edge off the sound.

But she had no means of distraction, and no way to see it coming. She ground her hands against her ears, flinching as a chain of fireworks went off. It wasn't true that they all _boom_ed. Some did, like thunder, but some crackled like snapping twigs, and some wove overhead with a whine like a mosquito. They were too loud, too varied; she was sure, could she have seen colors, that there still would have been too much for any reasonable person.

And yet even the people she relied on to be serious, Zuko and Katara and various adults that sometimes tagged along, were useless. All the Fire Nation citizens were thrilled to bits that their expertise with explosives was actually making people happy, and most of the others at the party had never seen fireworks before. Toph counted herself in the second group, along with Katara and Sokka.

She'd hoped at least for some reserve on the former's part, but no such luck. Katara was enthralled, and because Aang was trying to figure out how to slide an arm casually around her waist, Toph had no desire to meddle in that. Let Twinkles have his fun—with yesterday's win over Ozai under his belt, the kid certainly deserved it.

It took her longer than usual to realize someone was coming towards her. The echoes of the fireworks, bouncing off the hills, drowned out softer sounds like footsteps, and with the chaos of the nearby crowd she could hardly see. She scowled with dedicated if unconvincing ferocity at the intruder, and Sokka held up his hands in surrender.

"You all right?" he asked uncertainly, his voice briefly audible in the lull between bangs.

What a stupid question. "_Peachy_," she snarled.

"What's wrong?" he persisted, bending down next to her. She couldn't really make out the tone of his voice with the background noise, but she glared, drawing her knees up to her chest. A moment later, a bang shook the air, and despite herself she flinched.

"Nothing," she muttered. "I'm just… just not a huge fan of fireworks."

He was surprisingly quick on the uptake. "'Cause you can't see them?"

"'Cause I can still hear them."

"Oh." He paused. "Do you know what they look like?"

She shook her head, hands loosening around her ears. "I'd never heard of them before today."

"Me either," he said, and grinned. "They're really cool, Toph. They light the fuse and send a rocket up, and when it explodes a ton of little lights fly out, like this." With his finger, he scratched into the dirt beside her, a fray of little lines emanating from a single center point. "It's awesome."

Toph allowed herself a look of skepticism. "That's nothing special," she said, pointing to the lines.

"Well… it's tough to explain. They're pretty. Like stars—remember when I told you about stars?"

"The little dots all over the sky?"

He glanced upwards, admiring the wide, glittering constellations above them. The thing was, the sky was beautiful, so startling and at the same time wonderfully constant, and he knew she didn't understand that. He knew that the fireworks were only colored light, and that it was nothing special to make a rocket explode into several pieces in midair, but it didn't look mundane. There was something nice about pretending it wasn't. He didn't afford himself much time to think about whether or not things were pretty. Pretty wasn't useful. You couldn't hit people over the head with it. It just sort of _was_.

"Look, fireworks are cool," he said irritably. "They're unusual. And the Fire Nation is really proud of them."

As if on cue, an especially loud explosion drew a gasp of breath from the spectators. Sokka glanced fleetingly, longingly towards the crowd, and then back down at Toph. She said nothing, but she was biting her lip, and her hands were clenched over her ears. He reached up and took hold of one, peeling it carefully away.

"It's a little like thunder, isn't it?" he said quietly, and she nodded grudgingly. "Come on." He stood, not letting go of her hand, and she let him haul her to her feet. "We'll do the lightning thing," he said, and her eyes widened slightly. He would have called the expression grateful if it wouldn't have irritated her.

The lightning thing they had worked out months ago, when the first spring thunderstorms started to carve across the Earth Kingdom. Without the flashed warning of lightning, thunder was a shock each time to Toph; no one had been mean enough to point it out, but he'd been the first to offer help. Just while the thunder was within a few miles, at its loudest, someone would sit with her and point out the crashes. It involved some concentration to warn her 'lightning' after each flash crackled across the sky, but there was little else to do caught in the thick of a storm. As long as she knew when the noise was coming, it didn't scare her.

Usually Sokka ended up with the job while Katara and Aang were fending off rain, and sometimes Zuko, eager just to escape the downpour. The prince's hatred of rain would have made any housecat proud, and he and Toph were almost like brother and sister when they huddled under her rock tent, counting seconds between the flash and the boom.

Sokka, who liked Zuko but didn't trust him around Toph, hated the resemblance, and tried to get to her first whenever someone heard a thunderstorm on the way. He was an expert at the lightning thing.

They moved carefully back towards and into the crowd, weaving around spectators, some faces familiar and many more unknown. At first she looked grudging and unnerved, her face set in concrete distrust. "Firework," he cautioned anyway, every time a rocket whizzed into the air, and she gradually stopped holding his hand so tightly that her nails bit into his skin. She didn't let go, though, and for a moment he liked that image, both their faces lit by the crimson glow of sparks in the sky.

Looking back, he empathized better with her in later years, when he understood how much easier things were with some forewarning. Their separation, natural but still unexpected after the war's end, was one, and so was the fact that she didn't seem like such a child when they met a year later. Worse was the realization that he didn't either.

But the best lack of warning he ever had was the year after that, when they sat at the two-year anniversary of the war's end to watch the fireworks together. The show was almost over when her fingers tightened suddenly around his. Worried, he turned to face her, blurting, "Firework," from the corner of his mouth as another rocket flew into the sky.

"Yeah," she replied, and kissed him.

It was like colored lights bursting into a hundred pieces, needless and mundane, and there was something nice about pretending that it wasn't. He began to afford himself time to think about things that were not reasonable but pretty, and found quickly that she topped the list.

* * *

**Glittery things (and the discovery of a website with every How I Met Your Mother episode ever, AND the fact that I'm finally playing Portal 2) put me in a warm fuzzies kinda mood. Nuf said, I suppose; reviews are always appreciated!  
**

**P.S. to everyone who reviewed last chapter, I'm sorry I didn't reply. I moved email accounts and a bunch of important stuff got messed up... anyhow, thanks, and I still think you guys are the greatest. Happy awkward late 4th of July!**


	69. Costume

**#60. Costume**

**Now presenting, with 100% more Toph and Sokka, the parent-teacher conference at Aang-aka-Kuzon's Fire Nation school. Might be better known as the first canon appearance of Wang Fire? I'm just assuming that persona's already made an appearance, though.**

**Shoutout to Black Butler (I love Netflix instant streaming.) We have one hell of a butler on our hands.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA**

* * *

"_For Toph there's Aang's Fire Nation dress clothes," said Katara uncertainly, "but Sokka… I think the only clothes we have that'd fit you are, um…"_

* * *

The schoolmaster raised an eyebrow. "And you are Kuzon's… mother?"

"The Lady Sapphire Fire. Um. Yes."

"And with you, your… husband?"

"Butler."

"_Indeed._ If you don't mind my asking, Lady Fire, where_ is_ your husband?"

An odd tone overtook the Lady's voice for a moment. "Ah, Lord Wang Fire. I'm afraid my husband was… forced into retirement recently. By his superiors. He doesn't appear much in public these days." The butler hid a wide grin at this behind a large false beard. "Besides, I imagine it's my duty to see to the boy. Tell me, what seems to be the trouble with Kuzon?"

"Ah, yes." The schoolmaster cleared his throat. "I regret to inform you, Lady, that your son has picked up some rather… regrettable habits in the colonies."

"_No!_"

"I am afraid so," he sighed, taking respectful account of the mother's shock. "The boy is impossible to discipline. He talks back to his teachers, ridicules the National Oath, gets into fights with the other children, ruined a performance of the national anthem by taking an unorthodox tsungi horn solo—"

"He plays the tsungi horn?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Erm… nothing," the Lady amended quickly. "I was only speaking to my butler. I…" The Lady paused, exchanging a conspiratorial look with the servant. "I had no idea that Aan—I mean, that Kuzon could play the tsungi horn."

"Nor did I." The butler's eyes glinted. "I think we shall have to arrange a performance at some point."

"That was not the point!" Both butler and lady's heads snapped around to face the principal. "Your son deemed it necessary to correct the history professor on the battle between Sozin's military and the Air Nomads the other day."

"Oh, that boy. He does become passionate about his history."

"Madam, this is not a joke! I dislike throwing about accusations, but it seems to me the boy lacks serious discipline at home." The schoolmaster smirked as, at last, an expression of real dismay spread across the lady's face. "I did not wish to say as much, milady, but there is little my staff can do if you do not take care of the boy yourself."

There was a long, dangerous pause. The Lady's eyes narrowed ferociously, and slowly, she leaned forward over the desk towards the schoolmaster.

"_Are you questioning my capability as a mother?_"

"I…" A large portion of the principal's bravado evaporated on the spot. "That was not _entirely _my point—"

"I will have you know that it is no easy task bringing up a child!" The Lady's voice rose shrilly. "You feed them, you clothe them, you give them endless love and care, and then someone has the _audacity_ to tell you that you haven't done a good enough job? Sir, I would like to see you raise a family!"

The butler was trying so hard not to laugh that he nearly choked.

"Milady, I never meant to suggest that—"

"You are fortunate, sir, that I do not simply leave this conference on the spot. To imply that my son has been improperly brought up when he is clearly just… just…"

"The words you are looking for," the butler interjected delicately, "might be unique."

"Unique!" echoed the Lady vehemently. "Precisely. My boy, sir, has an artist's soul; I will have you know that his macaroni art in unparalleled in any of the Four Nations!"

The principal opened his mouth and closed it slowly. "Yes," he conceded grudgingly, "it is quite good."

"A masterpiece of noodles, I would say," the butler chimed in.

"You see?" The Lady settled triumphantly back into her chair. "Thank you, Toph."

"_Toph?_"

The single word hung in the air. The principal, suddenly leaning in over his desk, had narrowed his eyes, and the Lady and butler both went pale. "Toph?" he repeated. "Surely not as in _Bei Fong_, milady?"

"I... hah! Good one, sir," said the butler quickly, his voice suddenly dropping an octave. "No, Toph is, um, a nickname of the Lady's. It is short for… for…"

"Toffee," said the Lady.

"_Toffee?_"

"Toffings!" the Lady blurted, and, "Toffings," the butler agreed hastily, nodding.

"That doesn't sound like a Fire Nation name."

The Lady smiled sweetly at the schoolmaster. "You mean you've never heard of the Toffings butlers? Why, they've been in service to the Fire family for centuries."

The look of skepticism remained on the principal's face. "And you deemed his presence necessary here, in a school conference?"

"Well, I… uh…"

"Naturally," broke in the butler. "In the colonies the help is expected to accompany our employers everywhere. What sort of butler would I be if my lady needed assistance and I was not there to help?"

"You see?" the Lady Fire managed, now recovered. "I pity you, my good sir, if your own family's help is not so reliable. A good butler can be a dreadful hassle to find, you know."

"I should say so," the butler threw in, and when the Lady tittered, the principal offered an uncertain chuckle as well. For the first time, however, he took it upon himself to inspect the butler. As one who made it his duty to know all the upper classes of the Fire Nation, he was surprised that the Toffings line had escaped him. Unfortunately, the butler had a bowler hat pulled low enough to shadow his eyes, and an impressive beard hid the rest of his face. It would have been impossible to tell even the servant's age, let along his bloodline.

"The one you have there seems an excellent specimen," he admitted. "Most well-mannered, I imagine. You're a fortunate woman."

There were a lot of things the butler was besides _well-mannered_, but both the Lady and servant tactfully refrained from mentioning that. "I suppose that I might be able to ask Toffings if he can recommend any help to you," the Lady offered instead.

"How very… gracious." The schoolmaster looked taken aback. "Milady, you are very kind. I do wish that this meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances."

"But surely you understand my point about my son. Kuzon is simply… _unusual_. I'm sure that a little time with the boy will clear up any misunderstandings on the part of your faculty." The steely gaze she gave him made it clear whom the blame lay with, and the schoolmaster swallowed. A sudden thought occurred to him: butlers, especially entire families of butlers serving one household, were signs of wealth. Important people brought butlers to meetings. The Lady, peculiarities of her son aside, was powerful, and perhaps not one to be angered.

"Indeed. I fear that in retrospect, I may have been… overly harsh in my judgment of your son."

Toffings and the Lady exchanged a glance. "I fear the same," said the Lady dryly.

"I understand that whatever… eccentricities the boy has picked up in the colonies, they are clearly not a result of his home life. I do hope you can forgive me for bringing you in and causing you this trouble."

"It's nothing," the Lady reassured him sweetly. "I'm simply happy to know my little boy is doing well." She glanced up. "Toph… Toffings, are we ready to go?"

Toffings stood up straighter. "I shall fetch the carriage, madam."

"Very good." The Lady stood, dipping her head at the schoolmaster. "It has been a pleasure. Do take care, now."

She strode out the door, with Toffings following. The butler bowed elegantly before leaving, a gesture of such dignity that the principal didn't realize the bow was of the Earth Kingdom until later.

The Lady made her way out of the school, turning onto the main avenue. Only then did she drop the veil from her shoulders and, pausing on a street corner, shimmy out of her massive skirt into the loose, cropped pants underneath. A white boomerang, well-worn, was tucked into the waistband. Toffings, meanwhile, stood by and smirked, green eyes sparkling under the brim of the hat.

"I still think it's hilarious that your hair is long enough to be a girl's."

"I still think," said the ex-Lady, straightening up, "that you're just _adorable_ in that hat. _Toffings_."

"That's the stupidest name I've ever heard. No, actually, _second _stupidest, right after 'Sapphire Fire'. You idiot."

"Just give me my beard back." The Lady yanked the mass of dark hair from the butler's face, revealing smooth, pale cheeks and a broad grin.

"I would say it went well."

"We're still getting me some goddamn Fire Nation pants next time," the somewhat less-than-ladylike Lady Fire sulked, tucking the skirt under his arm, and the pair started off again down the street.

* * *

**Yes, it's Toph and Sokka… but which is which? I've never genderbended (bent?) before, so even if it's just crossdressing, this was fun.  
**

**I'm sorry that it's been a long time between updates—I got some comments on that in reviews that I can't totally deny. My family's on a road trip through the national parks, and internet sources are few and far between. BUT. That ends here, because the next time I publish… it's Tokka Week 2011.**

**Get ready.**

**(I am.) **

**—skrybble  
**


	70. Bend

**#62. Bend**

**OMFG IT'S STARTING IT'S STARTING.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

* * *

_Tokka Week Prompt #1: Rumble_

Everyone said that if she wanted to stay hidden, she would.

Everyone also said that she would never manage to stay away for long.

Since everyone had been wrong about the latter one, he was inclined to believe that the former might be untrue too.

Mob opinion, he suspected now more than ever, was no judge of character. Toph liked attention, sure. She thought, not incorrectly, that respect was something she was simply owed. But she wasn't incapable of subtlety. People were quick to forget how she'd lived years as the helpless heiress to the Bei Fong fortune. If she didn't want people to know something about her, they damn well wouldn't. They wouldn't even think there was anything _to_ know.

She had plenty to run from, and that he understood. Fame didn't suit Toph—esteem, maybe, and opulence some of the time, but not notoriety. She wasn't used to crowds who knew her name or emissaries who wanted her opinions, much less hatred from people she'd never known. None of them had been, to be fair, but no one was in a position to leave either.

_At least_, he thought to himself, shoving through the crowd of awkward teens and balding men, _she hadn't been in a position to leave. Not that it made a difference, really._ He elbowed his way through the last few people and into the arena. Around him rose a stadium made by earthbending, one that would be destroyed in the same way tomorrow. For now, however, the green-clad crowds towered up towards an endless ceiling. A large rectangle of stone, raised from the ground and accessible only by narrow flights of stairs, was the focus of all eyes. The competitors would be out soon.

It was Earth Rumble XI. The Blind Bandit, as usual, was not competing. It was no longer a surprise after four years; he'd just had to check.

He went every year, even now, when he had to request leave from his job as a Water Tribe diplomat. It wasn't really as if it was an issue. When you could drop by the Fire Lord's for a friendly lunch and greet the maids by name, no one really bossed you around. What Sokka did with his vacation time was his own business.

He took his seat: this, mechanically. He no longer put much effort into this. Around him the crowd was buzzing with names, but they were not the Boulder or the Hippo, and there was no mention of the one he really wanted to hear. The name 'Blind Bandit' had become legendary, too much so, too good to have been real. It was as if the messiah had come to the Earth Kingdom briefly and then vanished; all people could do was worship, loosely, a name, and then let it slide from memory. There had to be someone to cheer for, and an absent hero didn't fit the bill.

For the first time, Sokka felt acutely out of place at Earth Rumble. He was twenty now, no longer in the clique of starstruck teens nor in the crowd of middle-aged men out for vicarious thrills. It was odd to see the same ring, same people, same stadium and not feel the chills he had at age fifteen. It looked, sounded, smelled the same—like an arena, a riot, and earth and sweat, respectively—but it didn't feel that way.

At some point, last year's announcer emerged, and then the earthbenders. He sat there for a few fights, and when he was bored, he stood up and walked out, ignoring the glares he recieved. He cut an odd, aloof figure in his long green cloak, blue eyes narrowed at the crowd, and if he turned to look at people then they quickly looked away.

He didn't like Earth Rumble any more, he didn't think, and the realizaton surprised him. He didn't particularly want to be here.

For a moment, he stopped in the main entrance hall, deserted now save a few stragglers to the fights. From behind him, the crowd screeched and roared wildly. Sokka paused, and for a moment crossed his fingers underneath the folds of his cloak.

_Just come_, he thought. _Please. Next year._

"Mister?"

He didn't react.

"Hey. Hey! Hey, mister?"

_That can't be me_, he thought, suddenly anxious, starting forward. _Can't. I'm too young to be a mister_.

"Hey!" A small hand caught on his wrist, and he looked down to see a small, freckle-faced boy, no older than ten. The kid's face was wild with excitement, a crooked, toothy grin bulging on his cheeks. It shrank as he met Sokka's eyes.

"Mister," he said again, with less certainty. "Are you okay?"

Sokka tugged his hand back. "I'm fine," he said, and then wondered if it had come out too harshly.

The boy hesitated. "You look kinda lost. The fight's, um, it's over there." He pointed timidly towards the arena, and Sokka grinned unhappily.

"It's okay. I'm leaving. I was… looking for someone, and they're not here."

"Who?"

"None of your business, okay?" The little boy's bucktoothed smile was starting to grate on Sokka, and he realized his voice had been icy. The boy wavered, smile dropping nearly off his face, and Sokka relented guiltily. "You know the Blind Bandit?"

"I heard'a her." The kid frowned. "She's old, right? Like, from forever ago."

_Damn it—he's just a kid… he didn't mean to call you old…_

"We used to be friends," Sokka managed. "I always come to see if she's here, but she wasn't. It's okay," he added, with a smile. "She never is."

He pulled his hand away and strode towards the exit, and the boy stared after him. That smile had been like having a bucket of ice water poured over you because you said you were hot: well-meaning, but chilling to the bone. He shrank and retreated to his older brother, who wanted to know where he had been, and told about the tall, strange man who was looking for the Blind Bandit. The brother would later, offhandedly, pass the story to a friend, and the friend would mention it to someone else, who in turn mentioned it when Earth Rumble came up: the idiot waiting for the Blind Bandit. And the half-forgotten name began to spread again across the Earth Kingdom.

* * *

On the day of Earth Rumble XII, Sokka was there on time, waiting on a bench in the entrance hall when someone sat down next to him. At first he hardly spared her a glance, taking in only surface details. She wore a long, weathered coat, the collar folded up, and a green headband pulled low on her forehead. Dark, spiky hair hid the better part of her face from view.

"Who's fighting this year?" she asked, and Sokka realized after a moment she was speaking to him. He shrugged with obvious apathy, but the girl seemed not to care. "I heard something about the Blind Bandit," she continued. "Will she be here?"

Sokka went suddenly rigid, turned to look at the girl for the first time. He was trying to imagine her hair longer and tied up, her clothes loose and tomboyish for fighting. He couldn't see her face; she'd ducked her head into her collar. He could only risk it. "I hope so," he answered at last. "That way I can kill her for leaving."

She swiveled towards him, and a little part of him cried out in amazement. A grin flashed at the corner of her mouth, like a fish darting through water.

"I didn't know you'd be mad."

He grabbed her then, and hugged her, and she wasted no time in returning the embrace. Her arms laced around his neck, pulling him closer, as her sharp chin dug into his shoulder. Every part of her was wonderful. "Toph," he mumbled, shaking his head, his cheek brushing against her hair. "Toph. I'd never be mad."

* * *

**Blah blah blah blah I know I can't be the only one doing Earth Rumble, but the Blind Bandit is too cool to be forgotten. Bend = earthbending—close enough, right?)  
**

**(This is heinous on this week of all weeks but... I think Blind Bandit/Blue Spirit action needs to happen. What's that called, Blue Bandit? I mean, or if we're doing aliases, Wang Fire could certainly compete in Earth Rumble—bending the element of SURPRISE.)  
**

**Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to everyone else who's checking off Day 1 right now—reading or writing ^_^  
**


	71. Dirty

**#46. Dirty**

**This actually kinda happened to me once.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA**

* * *

_Tokka Week Prompt #2: Addiction (and/or 'addicting'...)  
_

Toph walked into Katara's room in the Fire Nation palace, picked up the collection of scrolls she'd been sent to collect, and made her way back to the her quarters, dumping the heap of paperwork on her desk. She would pass them on to an Earth Kingdom representative who could read tomorrow.

She had gotten all the right scrolls. She had also picked up, without meaning to, a surprisingly thick scroll on rich white paper, knotted tightly with a bright red ribbon. All the official documents were thin, and none of them tied off. Anyone who could see would have known instantly that the scroll wasn't the same as the others.

The next day, Toph was busy training in the morning, so Sokka was sent to get the scrolls before the ambassadors arrived. Arriving alone at the door, he paused before taking a couple steps into Toph's room. It was exactly the same as his room, of course, but it still _wasn't_, and so he was cautious as he glanced around for the paperwork. Fortunately, it sat in plain sight on her clearly unused desk.

He ran his finger along the labels, checking to make sure all the documents were there, when his finger stopped above one tied with a red ribbon. It was clearly not official paperwork, and he had to read the label twice before he would believe that it said '_Ember Island Heat_'.

Somehow, he didn't think it was a weather report.

His fingers had moved to undo the deliberate knot in the ribbon, and he slid the scroll open to a place where the paper was marked. As he read the first few words, his face went startlingly red, and he glanced from side to side, first to check that this was actually Toph's room and then to make sure no one else was there.

He started to put it down and then hesitated, eyes skimming a few more lines with a sort of perverse interest. After a moment, he sat down next to the desk. shuffling through pages to find the start of the story, and began to read.

Zuko arrived about twenty minutes later to find out where the paperwork was. Instead, he found Sokka lying on his stomach on the floor, poring over a scroll. Zuko let his friend keep reading for a moment, watching his eyes leap back and forth across the page, before clearing his throat.

"Proofreading?"

Sokka jolted upright and flushed bright red almost simultaneously, and suddenly Zuko was not quite so sure that Sokka was proofreading anything. "Zuko!" yelped Sokka, suddenly scrambling to wrap up the scroll and only succeeding in crumpling the paper. Zuko strode over and took hold of the document, despite Sokka's weak protest, and began to read aloud from the top line

"'Her fingers trailed across the broad expanse of skin, moving slowly downwards towards his throbbing…"

Zuko's good eye grew very wide.

"_What is this?_"

It seemed like one of those moments where saying nothing said it all anyway, so Sokka opted to keep his mouth closed. Zuko tried to maintain his dignity, keeping his steely gaze trained on Sokka's face, but after a moment his eyes flickered down towards the scroll. And up. And down. And up again, and when Sokka smirked, the new Fire Lord's mouth fell open, spluttering a weak protest.

"I…" Zuko wavered and then gave up, dropping his head and passing the scroll back to Sokka. The Water Tribe boy accepted it gracefully and, almost uncertainly, reopened it. He hesitated to read, however, as Zuko took a small step closer, leaning surreptitiously over to see the words.

"I've, uh… never seen the word bratwurst used like that."

Sokka glanced up in interest. "Do you know what bratwurst is?"

"Um." Zuko scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "No. I assumed you did."

"I don't think it's… well, what it sounds like. Unless that's the Fire Nation word for it?" At Zuko's mortified expression, Sokka shrugged innocently. "Okay, okay. No. Gotcha." He looked back at the writing, before muttering, "I was just wondering, because that would at least make sense in this sentence—"

"_No_," said Zuko deliberately, and then they were both quiet, reading.

When Mai walked in, looking for her boyfriend, Zuko was sitting on the floor next to Sokka, eyes fixed with intensity on the scroll. Both boys' heads snapped up as she rapped on the doorframe, and then Zuko asked timidly, "Mai? What's a bratwurst?"

"A kind of big sausage," she said, without batting an eyelash, and gestured size with her hand. "Why?"

"_Ohhh_," Sokka and Zuko breathed together, turning to each other with identical expressions of understanding. "Why?" Mai repeated, with as much emphasis as she ever used, and the grins faded to grimaces. The question in mind was clear as the boys' eyes met: did they let Mai see it?

The problem was solved when she snatched the story from them, read a few lines, and then read a few more. "Whoa," she murmured, eyebrows rising. "That is… this… I had not, uh, pictured that happening that way before."

Zuko, who rarely got to see his girlfriend flustered, grinned broadly and tugged at the edge of her dress. Needing no further encouragement, Mai passed the scroll back to Zuko and sat down on the other side of him.

"Wait, _that's _what bratwurst—?"

"Just read."

There was a kind of implicit understanding that they were all interested, and that they would all deny actual interest if asked. _If asked_, this was all part of a rather detached and scientific curiosity, and they had never seen a book like this before, and certainly would never be reading this for pleasure. It was just… fascinating. That was all. Obviously.

Ty Lee, looking for Mai, cried, "Ooh, what's going on?" when she appeared in the doorway, and needed no encouragement whatsoever to come see. She switched every so often between standing on her hands and feet as she read over Zuko's shoulder.

When Suki showed up, chasing her missing-in-action Kyoshi trainee, Sokka motioned her with an urgent jerk of his head, and a few minutes later, the warrior was blushing visibly under her makeup.

The realization came to Sokka first that this scroll had been on _Toph's _desk.

Suddenly this detail seemed a lot more important than the story.

"Hey," he hissed, nudging the Fire Lord. "Zuko. I just thought of something."

"Yeah?"

"This is Toph's room."

"Mm?"

"That's Toph's desk. With Toph's stuff on it."

Zuko froze, eyes rising slowly to meet Sokka's. "Wait," he choked, the grin sliding off his face. "You don't think that… this isn't…"

"What are you all doing in my room?"

In an instant, everyone else figured out what had taken Sokka minutes on his own. Five pairs of eyes exchanged frantic glances, and then all rose to the little girl in the doorway. Toph, folding her arms, ground her foot against the floor to get a clearer look. "Creeps. Are you going through my stuff or something?"

"Why?" Mai wondered, raising an eyebrow. There was a faint, dry edge of humor to her voice. "You got something to hide?"

Toph glowered. "What are you all doing here? You've got your own rooms, don't you?"

"Sure, but the entertainment there's not as good," piped up Suki, and Ty Lee giggled madly. Sokka and Zuko were grinning, and even Mai stifled a smile.

"I don't understand you people." Toph marched over, snatching the scroll out of her hands. The five on the ground waited expectantly for the mad blush, the shrieks to get out of her room and leave her stuff alone. Instead, Toph shook the parchment out a couple times and then stabbed at the paper.

"Does this have something funny on it or something?"

Four of them got it. The fifth, Ty Lee, burst out, "Oh, you have _no idea_!" She snickered, waiting, and then when everyone else didn't laugh, relaxed slightly. "What? I—hey, Toph, you do know that the scroll's upside down? Why are…" Right on cue, comprehension dawned across her face. "Oh. _Oh_. You, um, you really do, um—"

"Have no idea?" Toph finished dully. "Yep. Care to share?"

A single thought existed in Sokka's mind at that moment: that there was no way, come hell or high water, that Toph could know what was on that paper. It was a matter of her innocence, sure, the fact that she was at least three years younger than all the rest of them—but more to the point, she had not read the book. This meant that she had no reason not to tell everyone about the people who _had_. Ty Lee and Mai seemed not to care, but Suki had gone scarlet, and Zuko wasn't far behind. Sokka cleared his throat loudly.

"_That_," he leapt in, "that, um, that is paperwork. We… I'm afraid, uh, we found a couple mistakes near the start, so we were proofreading. It's pretty boring," he mentioned hopefully, "so you can probably just give it back."

She shrugged, rolling up the scroll and wrapping the ribbon loosely around it. "Hey, no worries. Who's it for?"

"It's…" _A Fire Nation citizen, any citizen._ "For Iroh," Sokka blurted.

"_Uncle?_" demanded Zuko in shock, and Ty Lee, no longer able to muffle her laughter, buried her face in Mai's shoulder. "I… I thought he didn't need to take part in any of the paperwork," the Fire Prince added ferociously to Sokka, but too late. Toph was already turning around.

"I'll deliver it. Saw him a few minutes ago. Don't thank me," she added over her shoulder. "Just get out of my room already. Hey, and tell Katara to be more careful next time, if she's making mistakes with this."

There was only time for one word. "Katara?" echoed Suki, Sokka, and Zuko together. Ty Lee was staring in silent laughter; Mai, having collected herself somewhat, was stonefaced again.

"Sure," they heard in response, from down the hall. "I got all the documents from her desk."

It was agreed by all that _Ember Island Heat _would never be discussed again, though Sokka could never quite look at his little sister the same when she was reading. Still, the afternoon remained a carefully kept secret. For that reason, when a large sausage with a red ribbon tied around it turned up on Katara's desk where the scroll had been, no one ever knew exactly where it had come from—for that matter, not even the five who had read the scroll were entirely sure.

Toph, on the other hand, had passed the scroll onto Iroh, gotten a quick but educational briefing on its contents, and then went to the Fire Palace's kitchens to look for a bratwurst.

* * *

**This sort of did happen to me once. Only, see, friends and I were doing charity work by moving the books around in a nursing home library, and apparently about 40% of the books old people read are, um, book porn. One of them, with a *really* interesting cover, was called something like Dakota Destiny (that was the main girl's name, too. I think she was a stripper?) At first we all wondered 'who writes this stuff?' and then 'what's it say on the back?' and then 'um, can I see the first page? maybe?' We didn't actually read any of it, but I'll still never look at nursing home residents quite the same.**

**ANYWAY. Happy day two of Tokka Week, everyone! And in advance, I probably won't be able to reply to reviews, but please know that they're appreciated. Hearing from you guys keeps me writing this week, so thank you!  
**


	72. Win

**#73. Win**

**In which winning isn't actually winning.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

* * *

_Tokka Week Prompt #3: Plan of Attack_

The fingers locked around his hand slip, and he almost knows it a moment before it happens, before she loses her grip entirely.

For a second, time stretches out in front of him like elastic; he sees her fingers break loose from his, sees her hanging in midair, blurring green and white and black as she falls. He notices the airship next to her, and, with vicious certainty, knows she will miss it before she has fallen past it. Her eyes are wide open as she falls.

He can't believe it. Like the drop below, too massive to quite comprehend, he can't wrap his head around it. _No,_ he thinks slowly, _no, this can't be real; Toph wouldn't die, Toph _can't_ die, because she's untouchable and nothing can hurt her, and if Toph's gone, what chance does anyone else have left…?_

Clanking footsteps against metal. He half-rolls back over in time to realized what were a couple easily dispatched privates are now a group of ten, all with hands trained on him. Blood drips freely down his leg; he can feel it, nauseating and warm on his skin, and he doesn't care. His pants are staining through, dark red spreading in a growing band around his calf.

"Freeze," hisses a solider, the metal distorting his voice into white noise in Sokka's ears.

Breath explodes, almost a wheeze, from deep in his smoke-clogged chest, and he realizes after a moment that he is laughing. What are they going to do—kill him? If he dies, he wonders, what's so bad? He's no Avatar, and he's done what he needed to already. If he dies, then he simply won't _be_ any more. Just like Toph. Gone.

The soldiers are staring at him; he's sure now that it is in disbelief, fading quickly to anger. He'd be puzzled too. After all, they can kill him in a second, and are almost certainly going to. At their slightest whim, he can be a flurry of ash drifting to earth, and he knows he should care, but somehow he doesn't.

He moves a hand, slowly and deliberately, to rest behind him, propping himself up onto his elbow. With every movement of his, the soldiers' hands twitch, and it is obvious their restraint is wearing thin.

"I said, _freeze_," the soldier repeats.

Sokka stares at where the firebender's eyes must be behind his helmet, and grins, widely, so all of them can see it.

"_Make me_."

And, oh, they're about to, when fate intervenes. For a moment, he hears a cry of anger, and heat is licking at his left arm—one soldier there was quicker on the draw—but then a larger cry of shock blends into a shuddering crash rippling from below him, and he's jarred completely, inevitably from his walkway. He's falling—was this how Toph felt…?

No, it isn't, because he lands on something—canvas, he realizes after a breathless moment. It shouldn't hurt, but it does; the taut cloth slaps him hard, knocking his breath away, and his arm is blistering and raw, and those don't even begin to hurt as much as his leg, which doesn't even feel like a limb anymore, just solid pain burning from his knee down...

_Suki saved me,_ he thinks blurrily, and as all the breath comes out of him, he deflates like a leaking balloon.

* * *

Spirits.

These _faces_.

He can't take their faces.

The first one is Aang's—no, the first is Suki's, but she doesn't count. She didn't know Toph, not really, beyond 'cynical, blind, prodigal earthbender'. She doesn't get it: it's a shock for her, but not a loss like it is for him. He's got tears in his eyes—he's not crying; it's because his leg hurts so much—and she misinterprets with, "Sokka, it's not your fault."

She means well, but because she's wrong he still doesn't reply.

It is a loss, a cruel one, for Aang. What did he do, to lose his friend after saving the world, to suffer that when he's done everything right today? The Avatar sees it in their faces when they hurry off the airship, and yet he asks anyway, so Sokka has to say it again. The words burn like vomit on the way up, and after he says it, Ozai laughs.

And Sokka snaps. Ozai is possibly the only person more responsible for this than he is. Without this man, there never would have been the goddamn airship fleet in the first place…

Well, actually, no; without Sokka's stupid invention he'd been so proud of way back when, there would be no airships, but _still_. Ozai. This man has had a thousand chances to change and used none of them, and now Sokka's friend is dead. Cause and effect.

His foot makes a deliciously satisfying sound when it connects with Ozai's shoulder and then his stomach, and the former Phoenix King doubles over with a wheeze like a rusty-springed sofa. "Sokka!" shout Suki and Aang together, both thinking, _don't go to his level_, but it's far too late for Sokka to worry about going anywhere but hell, so he keeps kicking. He's in a sorry shape: his left arm's burned raw and bandaged, and his ankle's wrapped in a heavy cast; but the cast's thick and solid, and that makes it enough of a weapon for him.

He lifts his foot again—yeah, the pain from his foot in making him sick, but it's a fair price to pay for hurting this man—but then earth, courtesy of Aang, springs up around his foot. He overbalances and stumbles over, only then the earth reminds him of the girl who used to bend it, and he starts screaming at Ozai instead. He doesn't remember what he said, except that it clearly wasn't enough.

And then come the last two faces, Katara and Zuko. Katara they saw first, because she ran to meet them—Zuko, still sore from his sister's lightning, followed slowly, a hand over his chest. There was a slow, terrible moment when she visibly counted: one, two, _three_, when there should be four… and then suddenly she gets it, and can't pretend she doesn't. The three faces leave nothing to deny.

She runs to Aang, burying her face in his neck. It's Sokka's instinct to feel protective, but then he considers that Aang can probably protect his sister better anyway. It's a sobering thought, and he slumps miserably into his crutch.

Then Zuko catches up. The boy's perceptive—years living in a place where you can't trust anyone must help develop that—and it only takes him a second to see Katara's tears, Suki and Aang's grave faces, Sokka's visible guilt.

In the end, Zuko's is the only reaction Sokka truly appreciates.

The boy lunges, and then Sokka's reeling back, clutching his eye. Zuko stares, breathing hard. "You got her _killed?_"

"I didn't…" protests Sokka, but there's no force behind it. _Damn_, he thinks dazedly, _Zuko can throw a punch._

"She was your responsibility!" the firebender snarls. "You were supposed to keep her _safe_!"

"Zuko!" yelps Katara, eyes flipping back and forth indecisively. "Stop it!"

"No!" he growls, spinning to face her. Everyone knows what's happening, and can't quite bring themselves to stop him. Despite their rocky start, Zuko had liked Toph best of all, just for not hating him; by now, there's no disputing that she's the little sister he wishes he'd had. "Toph's gone, and it's his fault; he was supposed to protect her! What the hell is he thinking, calling himself a warrior?"

_I am a warrior_, is Sokka's first reaction, but abruptly he reconsiders. And even though warriors are supposed to survive and carry on, they're most of all meant to protect, and he couldn't. What if he'd just fallen? All of this would be gone—no gnawing guilt or denial, no cold, raw truth lying in wait at the back of his mind. _He's right. I let her fall._

"I didn't mean…" he mumbles, "it wasn't like that… she was there and then she fell…"

He's pathetic; he sees how much so in Zuko's eyes. The firebender's teeth are gritted, his jaw clenched, and for a moment he is the same angry boy who destroyed Sokka's village two years ago. Then he jerks his head away—against his will, Sokka is grudgingly impressed by that self-control—and storms off.

Aang hesitates. This guilt is hardly a prick compared to the stabbing in his stomach, but Sokka still feels it, hating how he's ruined Aang's day. But then the monk goes chasing after Zuko, followed after a moment by Katara. Before, he can't help thinking, it might have been Toph instead of Aang. There was something about her distinct lack of sympathy that couldn't help but make you feel better.

* * *

Of course, no one has very much sympathy for Sokka right now, least of all Sokka himself. He thinks he really would feel better if he could only have five seconds more with Toph, just long enough for her to hit him in the shoulder and tell him he was an idiot. She'd be impressed by Zuko's punches, no doubt; Sokka's black eye is like a strange flower, purple bruises sprawling out from it like petals, the dark iris and pupil as its center. He admired it in the mirror this morning before leaving for the funeral.

He's a mess: fractured ankle, burned arm, and now this phenomenal bruise. He shouldn't be allowed out of the house, but he's here anyway. Front row with the rest of them, and Zuko's sitting all the way at the other end of the aisle on purpose, just so Sokka knows he's not forgiven. It hurt at first, but now it just feels kind of petty. Sokka could care less if Zuko forgives him; he's got worse things worrying him.

He's tried apologizing, over and over, sometimes out loud when there's no one else there, but he's not getting any replies, and it's pretty clear that that's not going to change. Of course she can't hear him—what did he expect? The dead are dead. And gone. There's no question of finality; that's how it is.

He wishes she could hear. This is hard for him. Spirits aren't a matter of belief—it's obvious they exist—but this absolutely is, and he's not a very good believer. Sokka's the kind of person who only prays when he needs something.

But he does need this.

"Let us pray," says the preacher, reminding the entire crowd that Toph was never religious, and Sokka bows his head.

_Toph_, he thinks. _I don't know if you can hear me. Well, I doubt you can, I mean, but—sorry. Sorry. I'm trying_.

_It's not fair, Toph. I messed up. I don't think I've ever messed up that badly before. I would have done anything I could to keep you safe. That's my job, right? I tried to do that. _He's making excuses. He knows, and stops himself with effort. _You were probably better at it—keeping people safe, I mean. Or keeping yourself safe. You probably didn't need my help. I just…_

What are the words? There's something he really does want to say, something forming into words in his mind, and it suddenly comes for him.

_Thank you, _he thinks, surprising himself. _I don't know what we would have done without you—what I would do without you. You didn't have to leave your family. You didn't have to do any of the things you did. Spirits_—and he pauses here, scrubbing a hand across his eyes—_Toph, you're so brave. There's no one like you.  
_

Slowly, he lifts his head. There's a picture of Toph at the front of the church instead of a casket; they're making do, since they never found the body. The artist got Toph's eyes wrong. They were that color but never that focused.

_I'll remember you_, he thinks, and it's like a whisper, as though even if she's not there he really is talking now. _I promise. _Anyone can remember how her eyes looked, but he knows for a shivering moment that he'll never forget who she was, either. He can't forget, the good or the bad, the way her hand felt as it slipped out of his. He owes it to her. Toph would want him to mourn—of that he's certain—but she wouldn't want him to curl up in a corner for the rest of his life either. He needs to keep moving.

When the service is over, the first thing he does is hobble over to Zuko before the Fire Lord can escape. "I'm sorry," he says, meaning it even more than he did before, and from the expression on Zuko's face, he knows it's the first thing he's done right.

* * *

**Dear God Almighty... I deviated so far from the prompt, hahah. But if I stick to the writing plan I have right now, this is the first and last real angst (I don't count 'Rumble' because that had a fluffy ending.)**

**Reviews, as always, are amazing ^_^ Thank you so much for all the support you've given already—it's great to know you guys are reading!  
**


	73. Male

**#29. Male**

**POSTED BEFORE MIDNIGHT I SWEAR.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

* * *

_Tokka Week Prompt #4: Mother_

Surprising no one who knew them well, Sokka and Toph made wonderful and utterly terrified parents. The former did little, if anything, to balance out the latter. It wasn't that either of them was unused to responsibility; it was that a baby was a lot _more_ than they were used to. No amount of reassurance from Katara had calmed them, and after they came home with Riku for the first time, it took a long time for them to stop panicking when he cried.

There were other things that they might have done wrong. They didn't ever quite get around to childproofing the house and hiding Sokka's boomerang, and Toph preferred to earthbend occasional two-foot walls when their son started crawling rather than installing child gates, taking them down again once he wandered away. The little boy wasn't raised on a carefully planned diet and didn't wear silly hats—except in winter when Toph couldn't see, because Sokka secretly liked the one that looked like a platypus bear. They always got up eventually, though, when Riku started crying in the middle of the night, and it would have been hard to say which parent adored him more.

He was fine until he was nine months old and started talking. That was where the problem began.

It happened quite unexpectedly, as Sokka was in the middle of feeding him breakfast. Toph walked past, and Sokka paused the spoonful of applesause mid-swoop to suggest almost automatically, "Riku? See Mama? Can you say 'mama'?"

He hadn't expected a response, and nearly spilled the applesauce when Riku directed his large blue eyes at Sokka, pointed, and declared, "_Mama._"

Sokka froze, torn between surprise and concern. On one hand, Riku had never repeated after him before. On the other… "No," he corrected, gently moving Riku's hand to point to Toph instead. "_Mama_. Again, Riku? Mama?"

Their son beamed, squirming, and stabbed towards Sokka again with a chubby finger. "Mama!"

"Um, no. That's me, Rik. I'm Dad. _Da-da_?" he tried, to no avail, as Riku chuckled and made a grab for the applesauce. Toph had stopped too, the stunned smile on her face gradually wilting.

"Sokka, what's up?"

"He keeps calling me, um…"

"Mama!" Riku chirped again, now gesturing with the spoon, oblivious to the pressing silence. He pointed it at Toph thoughtfully, considering, before pronouncing, "Dada."

Had Toph been able to use her eyes, a long, meaningful look would have passed between her and Sokka at that point. She had stopped very suddenly, and Sokka could read the surprise on her face, fading into hurt. Riku, unaware he had done anything wrong, gave both of them a smile. "Dada," he repeated, as if he couldn't be prouder.

Toph pressed her lips together for a long moment, too conscious of Sokka's eyes on her and Riku's waiting grin.

"Wow," she managed at last. "He's talking, huh?"

They couldn't stop noticing after that.

They'd always been, if not a typical couple, then a happy one, and Sokka had been fine with that. He had no intention of becoming dull just because he was married, and had full confidence that Toph wouldn't let that happen. But there were things he'd never picked up on that suddenly jumped out.

He always cooked and cleaned, for example, because she couldn't. It wasn't even that she couldn't have read a cookbook—she had a good enough memory for things that interested her—but she couldn't measure out ingredients or judge how to prepare something by sight. Half the time she didn't know if something was burning; she had to be able to smell it, and it always took just slightly too long for comfort for that to happen. For the same reason, he'd always ended up cleaning. She couldn't see dust on a surface or when a plate needed scrubbing in a particular spot. It had simply made sense.

She was the one of them that earned a paycheck. It shouldn't have bothered him, and really, he was happy for her. Toph was an official supervisor and trainer of the Dai Li, and he couldn't have asked her to stop. She'd been granted the position by the Earth King after she and Sokka decided to spend a few years in Ba Sing Se, and he knew how much she loved her job.

But he was the one at home now, who did the housework and took care of Riku. He didn't mind it, of course, and really it made sense, but…

How could he say it out loud? It shouldn't mean that he was the woman, just because that was how things had worked out right now. It didn't.

That wasn't the end of it, though. They were little things that began to strike the two of them. He had always liked shopping more than her, because of course clothes didn't matter too much to her, but now it had begun to feel like thin ice. "The shoes would go well with that dress you just got," he would tell her, and then his mouth would snap closed, desperate to take the words back. That wasn't _manly_.

And of course, what he would try desperately not to think was, _But I'm not manly, am I?_

The thing was, by all tradition, she was the man in the relationship, and he was the woman. She trained the police force for a living. He took care of the baby and the house. He was the more thoughtful of the pair, and she was by far the more aggressive. He matched bags with belts, and she sat on the couch on weekends and picked her toes.

Unexpectedly, Toph would arrive on the front doorstep after work and realize suddenly that her skin was sticky with sweat, that her hair was still snarled and blotched with earth in places. The girls she passed in the city began to jump out at her with their carefully styled hair and long, elegant dresses, and little by little they grated on her nerves. It wasn't her fault she worked and couldn't dress like that. It wasn't _odd_ that she wasn't at home with her son while her husband was.

The way she punched him affectionately began to trouble her suddenly, and that in itself upset her. She'd never felt, so acutely, a need to be feminine before. Sure, when she'd been younger she'd been a little self-conscious about it, but that had been the great thing about Sokka. She'd never needed to act differently around him before.

When she stopped hitting him, he worried. She had seemed slightly off for a little over a week now, but he couldn't have said how, only that she was different. She wasn't as easygoing, and whenever Riku needed something she would swoop in, nudging him out of the way. "I can take care of him," she maintained whenever Sokka tried to help. "Don't worry."

He decided one day that he hadn't practiced with his boomerang for too long, and got it out once Riku was settled down for a nap. This must be what he needed—just to get a little aggression out of his system. He felt better already.

He was experimentally tossing and catching Boomerang when he broke a lamp.

It was cleaned up by the time Toph got home, and she never mentioned it. He returned the favor when, the next day, she tried to cook breakfast. Scrambled eggs weren't particularly difficult, of course, but eyesight helped quite a lot in some aspects, and he'd been woken by the sound of her chiseling them from the pan.

"I like how… crunchy they are," he muttered as they ate, when he came across his third piece of eggshell, and Toph narrowed her eyes and swallowed a massive forkful. They were horrible.

Yet they didn't say anything about it to each other until the night that he came into their room and found her on the wrong side of the bed. "Toph?"

She lifted her head. "Yeah?"

"That's my side."

"I thought we could switch."

There was something odd in her voice, a kind of challenge. "Why?"

"No reason. Just wanted to see if this side was more comfortable." She clutched the blankets tighter. "That's okay, isn't it?"

It wasn't until he got into the bed that he knew it wasn't. This side wasn't _right_—the pillow felt lumpy, and the blankets fell strangely. The mattress had a lump in it near his stomach that he couldn't avoid no matter how much he shifted around, and the light from the door was shining in his eyes. He could hear her wriggling around, starting on her right side and working her way in a circle, from lying on her back to her left side to her stomach. She tried to move casually, as if she were tossing in her sleep, but he'd known her long enough to know she was still awake. "Toph?" he ventured at last, very quietly. "Why are we switching sides?"

For a moment, she didn't reply, but he knew she wasn't asleep; her breathing had paused the moment he spoke. At last she sighed and rolled onto her back. "I heard that usually the man sleeps on the side of the bed near the door."

To Sokka's abrupt shame, his first thought was disbelief. He'd been sleeping on the woman's side of the bed? All this time? He opened his mouth to reply and then very hurriedly reconsidered. He was never going to get to sleep on this side of the bed, and they got little enough rest as it was with Riku.

"Does that bother you?"

"No! I mean," she added quickly, "of course not. Why would it? It doesn't matter, and it… I…" He stayed still, waiting, and she trailed off weakly. "Yeah," she admitted, after a moment. "A little."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" She sat up a little bit, her eyes gleaming in the light from the door. "You think I want to be called 'Dad', Sokka? Did you really think it doesn't bother me that that's what Riku thinks?"

"He's a baby!" Sokka growled, propping himself up. "He doesn't know what the words mean. Hey, here's a thought—don't you think it bothers me to be a stay-at-home effing _mother_ for him while you're out fighting?"

"You could work if you wanted!"

"No, I couldn't," he hissed. "Someone who can actually _cook_ needs to take care of Riku, Toph."

Her mouth fell open, hurt slipping quickly into offense. "Do you want me to say sorry for not being a housewife?"

"No! But it'd be nice if you'd stop _complaining _about it!"

Her face pinched in anger. "Fine," she snarled, and collapsed back onto the bed, curling up so she was facing away from him.

"_Fine_," he retorted, and adjusted his pillow, turning away. She didn't respond.

It took him fifteen seconds to decide that there was no way he could sleep on this side, and another two to roll back to face her once he realized this.

"Toph?"

At last, she grunted in response. It wasn't quite as forgiving as an actual word would have been, but enough for him to continue. "It doesn't matter what side of the bed you sleep on," he said hesitantly. "Or which one of us works. Or if I cook. Riku won't ever care, honestly."

It was funny how a silence of a couple seconds could feel so long. "It just doesn't seem fair that you're better at being his mom that I am," she mumbled against her pillow, and he could hear that she was serious. Toph, in all fairness, simply wasn't used to being bad at things. The problem was one part self-consciousness for her, and one part self-failure.

He hesitated, almost too long; only as he saw a glare begin to cloud her face did he continue. "You're his mom, Toph. And I'm his dad. That doesn't change, okay? I know that. So will he."

She paused. "Even though I can't cook?"

"Yeah."

"And you don't care that I'm working and you don't? I swear, if it's that important to you—"

"Nah." He shook his head. "As long as you're okay with me liking shoes."

"And how you order stupid drinks with umbrellas in them."

His answer came, sullen, after a moment. "I like the umbrellas."

"You're such a girl," she muttered, but he could hear her grinning.

"Can I have the girl's side of the bed back, then?"

She sat up without a word and slipped out of the bed, giving him a worn, sleepy grin as he shifted over to the opposite side of the mattress. It was instantly more comfortable, and as Toph nestled into the blankets beside him he let a smile drift to his lips. He could no longer have cared less about which side of the bed the man should have, only that he got to stay in this bed for at least ten hours' sleep. He yawned and let out a deep, happy sigh.

One room over, Riku suddenly began to wail.

It occurred to him almost instantly that neither of them should worry about who was the mom—it was enough work being a parent as it was already.

* * *

**This one was just difficult. I wasn't in the mood for any more woe-is-me Sokka, so him angsting about his mother was out, and God knows I've written enough to do with the Bei Fongs. But Toph and Sokka as parents are STILL SO WEIRD...**

**But moving on. Four days down, three to go, and your feedback, as always, is keeping me going :)**

**(Also the fact that I finished Portal 2 today helps (OH MY GOD HOLY #$% THAT WAS THE MOST #$%ING CRAZY ENDING I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE! WHAT? _WHAT?_) And, you know, maybe Portal 1 was great, but I loved this game. Well. If I didn't... I do now, haha.)**

**Right, I'm done spazzing. Probably. As I said, guys, thanks for all the reviews, and hope your weeks are as good as mine has become ^_^**


	74. Apathy

**#40. Apathy**

… **Or in which Toph and Sokka, despite both their best intentions, can't muster any. I'm getting so stretched for Tokka 100 prompts...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

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_Tokka Week Prompt #5: Cozy_

_"It all began on a dark and stormy night—"_

"I don't remember it being stormy."

"I don't recall you being the real expert on the sky, Toph—_ow!_" He rubbed his arm where she'd hit him, glaring momentarily. "Okay, okay. It all began on a dark night in the middle of the woods. The fire was burning down, and it was close to midnight when—_suddenly_—we heard the screaming."

"_Who _heard the screaming?"

"… when suddenly _Toph_ heard the screaming, coming from under the nearby mountain. At first we didn't believe her. We thought," he said meaningfully, "that it was just her making up a story. _Little did we know._

"But just as suddenly as she had heard it, the screaming stopped, and a moment later we heard a rustling in the forest. The branches shifted to the side, and in front of us stood… an old woman, just visible in the light from the fire."

Teo looked faintly relieved as he heard 'old woman', but a flicker of disappointment crossed across Haru and Suki's faces. Zuko and Mai, so far, were unreadable. Sokka didn't let it faze him. He knew as well as Toph that they the story only got better.

" 'You children shouldn't be out on your own,' she said," Toph joined in. " 'People have been disappearing in this woods on nights with the full moon. Why don't you come to my inn? It's not far away, and you can spend the night.'"

"Of course we said yes," Sokka added. "What else were we going to do? We figured we were lucky. But if we had known what was waiting for us… we would have stayed in the forest, screaming people and all."

He did notice that the audience was more attentive now, several faces growing slightly nervous as he continued. "It wasn't long before we started thinking Hama the innkeeper wasn't all she seemed. At first, she was perfectly nice, but she seemed suspicious in a way we couldn't quite explain. So when she went out"—and here, Sokka couldn't quite keep a note of pride from his voice—"I decided to see what she was hiding.

"We snuck upstairs and found the attic door shut, but through the keyhole we could see an empty room with a chest in the middle. I used my sword to pick the lock, and hen we got in, Toph bent her space rock bracelet into a key and began to open the chest."

The listeners exchanged slightly worried glances—_they can_ both_ pick locks like that?_—but Sokka forged on. "She almost had it, too, when we heard behind us, '_I'll tell you what's in the box_.'"

His delivery, Toph noted, was actually perfect. Even though his old woman voice was a bit too high, he managed to whisper at a volume just loud enough to be heard, the tone eerie and distinctly sinister. Even Mai was leaning forward a little bit now, waiting to hear the next part.

"It was Hama, back from the market. Never letting our fear show through—"

"What? Sokka, you were freaked out by then—"

"_Showing no fear, _we handed her the box, but we had never expected what she pulled out. It was a Water Tribe comb, and she explained to us that it was the only thing she had left from the Southern Water Tribe. She'd originally lived there, and now she was the only waterbender left that she knew of." He rolled his eyes. "Of course, _Katara_ had to go all, 'I knew I felt a bond with you!' and stuff, so we—"

"We didn't get to hear more about it," interrupted Toph, cutting him off, "until dinner that night." She elbowed Sokka meaningfully, letting him continue. The truth was, even if Sokka couldn't give a speech to save his life, he loved storytelling, and he could be excellent at it when he wanted. She suppressed a shiver, surprising herself, as he started on their break-in to the prison under the mountain. Had it really been that deep underground, that cold and that silent as they made their way down?

She felt the heartbeats of the listeners speeding up, knowing hers was joining in, and found herself slightly irritated. She'd stopped commenting and really started listening to him, without even noticing; but it was as if now she needed to know what would happen. It was stupid, she knew—this shouldn't freak her out. She had been there. She had been _fine_.

But…

"I couldn't control my body," Sokka was saying, his voice low and urgent. "Even though I tried to fight it, my hand grabbed for my sword and drew it, waving it at Katara." His arms moved wildly as he spoke, and yet the gestures and volume of his voice formed a strange balance; he forced the audience back with hand motions and only a moment later drew them closer with a whispered line.

"Katara shoved me back, but Hama was ready: she forced my arm out, with the sword pointed," he explained, holding out his own arm, "and shoved me forward"—he lunged out, sending Teo and Suki, the jumpiest, recoiling in shock—"so that I was flying towards Aang. He skidded along the ground, closer and closer, and I knew I was just about to run him through when…"

He broke off, taking a long, slow look at the audience. The bait was clear, but none of them could quite avoid asking. "_When…?"_ prompted Zuko urgently at last. He was bent forward towards Sokka, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"I froze," Sokka answered, his voice soft. "Right in place, my sword an inch from Aang. All of a sudden, all the strength holding me in place disappeared, and I dropped to the ground, my arms falling to my sides. Katara stood in front of me, her arm out, forcing Hama to the ground; her back was to me, and I couldn't see her face, but Hama was staring like she couldn't believe her eyes. She wasn't smiling or upset, just staring, her eyes huge and wide. A moment later we heard voices, and saw Toph and the prisoners approaching the clearing. One of them ran forward to grab her, and pulled her upright, snapping handcuffs onto her hands. 'You're going to be locked away forever,' he growled.

"And Hama looked straight at him," Sokka said slowly, perfectly aware of his rapt audience, and let a smile slide across his face. "And then, with everyone looking at her, she started laughing, loud and crazy. The villagers grabbed her and dragged her away, but until she was out of sight, she never took her eyes off Katara—and even when she was gone, we could still hear her laugh through the trees.

"We never saw her again."

Toph let the breath slide out of her in a soft puff of air. Around her, the group was torn between relaxing and sitting stiffly in place, not entirely calm though the story was over. Sokka at last allowed himself a grin, an acknowledgement of the good job he'd done. Toph gave him a moment to savor it and then punched him in the shoulder. He glanced over at her and smirked. "Scared, Toph?"

"I was there, genius," she drawled back. "Didn't scare me then, doesn't now."

"It scares _me_," Suki admitted, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I can't believe people could actually do that. That's just… just…"

"Least you're not related to one of them," Sokka muttered, and a little shudder of uneasy laughter passed around the group. Haru was the first to stand up, squaring his shoulders.

"It's a good story," he admitted. "I didn't realize Katara was so, um… you know, I think I just won't get on her bad side."

Zuko grimaced, enough of a response, and then stood as well, Mai rising with him. "I'm going to bed," he said, turning for the door. "You, um… all know your way to your rooms, right? There's nothing you'd need help wi—"

"Zuko," Mai interrupted calmly, "just go." She took her boyfriend's arm, steering him slowly but firmly out of the room, leaving everyone else to smile faintly at the Fire Lord. He still couldn't quite get over having most of the Avatar's best friends staying in his palace, and his eagerness to prove a good ally was matched only by his terror of failing. It was times like these when Mai really proved how helpful she could be.

But everyone was slightly too tired—or too nervous—to really smile after the story. Teo wheeled himself out after them, offering a, "Night, guys," as he went, and Haru and Suki followed. It was suddenly just Toph and Sokka, sitting alone in the Fire Palace's umpteenth living room. The fire, burning low in the hearth, cast dancing shadows across the walls, and Sokka felt a flash of deja vu from the story he'd just told.

"You're really not scared?"

"Me? Pfft. Nah. It's not that scary." She paused, and then added for good measure, "As _if._"

"Not even a little?"

Curling up against the arm of the sofa, she folded her arms, a motion too defensive to be coincidental. "Why? Are you?"

He dropped his gaze quickly. "Um. No. _No_."

A smirk stretched like a chasm across her face. "You're lying," she said with relish. "You are. You're totally scared of your own story, you wuss."

"It's kind of freaky, though," he muttered sullenly, glancing at his hands. "You're not telling me that it really doesn't—_holy Spirits what is that?_"

He pointed, almost flailing, towards the window, and Toph shrieked, her hands tightening like vices on the sofa cushion. Sokka waited a moment and then broke into laughter, ignoring the poisonous look shot his way. "What, and it didn't get to you at all?You're even scared-er than I am!"

"Whatever," she muttered, sinking down into the sofa until she was almost curled into a ball. "You going to bed now?"

"I…" He glanced towards the door and realized, suddenly, how dark the corridor was. There were no other sounds around, save the crackle and hiss of the fire, the only light besides the moon. He didn't need to look out the window—he knew what it would look like. He'd waited until tonight to tell the story, so that it would be full.

"I… might not go to bed right now," he mumbled. "What about you?"

She paused, pressing her lips together. "I, uh… I'm kind of comfy here. I might just stay here for a little while. You know. If you're staying."

"Uh-huh."

"Or maybe, um, sleep here."

"That sounds okay."

"You know, just because I don't really feel like walking to my room."

"That's smart," he agreed. "If it's okay, then, I might just stay here—you know, because safety in numbers, and all, and not that we wouldn't be safe, because of course we are, even if it's a full moon, but just in _case_ there was something that happened to sneak up on us or possibly be waiting around the corner it's, you know, good to have at least two."

Toph frowned. "Did you say… full moon?"

"Um. Yes. Not that it matters, I mean, but… yes. Why?"

She paused for a moment, and then thumped a fist against the wall twice; a lattice of bars spread in front of the open window, first vertically and then horizontally. Sokka tried to hide his smile.

"The area's secure now," she mumbled, and shifted closer, propped her pillow against his shoulder.

"That was good thinking," he said sincerely, leaning his head on top of hers. After a moment, she wriggled closer, yawning against his shoulder; he was suddenly torn between wishing he couldn't tell a ghost story quite so well and being very, very grateful that he could.

* * *

**I love scary stories. Especially telling them. I think they're the best thing ever until I'm on my own and it's dark and I remember the goddamn mummy... hahah, I should know better by now. But I really did love the Puppetmaster episode ^_^**

**Reviews are always appreciated!**


	75. Diversion

**#22. Diversion**

**In which, a while post-finale, Toph and Sokka are questing to get Sokka more space rock, and run into not entirely unpleasant diversions and/or distractions ;)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.**

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_Tokka Week Prompt #7: Secrets_

It was a thick, smoggy kind of rain falling across the landscape, blurring stretching fields into the heavy clouds along the horizon. The weather didn't call to mind tears so much as a sullen resentment on the part of the weather towards the entire Fire Nation. Sokka didn't actually mind real rain: downpours he had always found refreshing; real, pelting rain never did more than to wake him up a little bit, always in a thoroughly pleasant way. Rain was only annoying if you worried about getting wet, and he never did. It never rained at the South Pole, and this was nothing compared to a blizzard.

But this wasn't the refreshing kind of rain. The late summer storms here only made the air damp and humid, and the drops were lukewarm and lackluster as they fell. It was like being wrapped in a warm, wet blanket, and they had only been walking for a few minutes when he suggested they stop.

Toph didn't mind. She hated rain—the vibrations from the falling drops, she'd explained to him, interfered with her sight—but he suspected that today she was simply too sick of walking in this weather to protest. Eager to hunt down a new source of space rock, he hadn't thought the journey through very carefully. It was only a few days' trip from the capital city to where the meteor had fallen, and so they'd opted to travel on foot, but the conditions were making it far from easy.

They stopped in the woods near the road's edge, Toph bending a quick lean-to for shelter. She was determined to make herself useful after asking to come, and though Sokka couldn't have said why, he suspected it had something to do with how he'd lost his space sword. He'd thrown it away willingly on the airship, and she knew that, but it didn't seem to stop her from wanting to help.

He could appreciate company. He'd have brought Suki, a few months ago, but they'd sort of called things off after she had to go back to Kyoshi, and he wasn't sure if they were really friends yet. Toph made things much simpler. Besides, he could also appreciate shelter, since these trees weren't providing much of it. The two of them sat in lazy silence, listening to the soft rustle of rain against the trees. After a few days spent solely with the same person, you began to run out of trivialities to talk about, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The rain was putting him in a reflective mood anyway.

But what did they really have to talk about, besides trivialities? Not that they didn't know each other well enough, but the opposite; he didn't think there was much about himself that Toph didn't already know. They didn't keep secrets from each other, or at least nothing he could think of.

It was rare, though, that their conversations were particularly meaningful. They had fun together, right? That was why he liked spending time with Toph so much. Stress-free fun. It shouldn't bother him if they didn't talk about feelings, or whatever the hell else people talked _seriously_ about. He didn't think Toph talked often about feelings, but that just wasn't the kind of person she was.

He remembered he'd spoken to her about his mother once, after their escapade with the Runaway. That was a meaningful conversation. Why didn't they have more of those? He didn't think he kept secrets from her but, he reflected, there was a lot about her he didn't know still. For someone usually so shameless, there was a lot Toph kept to herself.

"Do we keep secrets from each other?"

He almost wasn't sure if he'd spoken for a moment, because she didn't respond for a long moment. At last she sat up a little bit, tilting her head to the side. "I don't know. Doesn't everyone?"

It wasn't the answer he'd expected, and a 'no' would have put him much more at ease. "You keep secrets from me?"

"I already said, I don't know. I'm not hiding stuff from you." She shrugged. "I guess we just don't talk about it a lot, you know?"

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's something you haven't told me?"

She sat up a bit, crossing her legs. "Anything?"

"Yeah, sure." He glanced at her expectantly. "Hit me."

Toph smirked. "I thought you were such a jackass when we first met."

It was the second sucker punch in a minute, and he started, jaw dropping. "What?"

"At Earth Rumble? Dude, you had such a man-crush on the Boulder. Plus when I was fighting and you were all 'crush her', and then you started wearing my Earth Rumble belt… I mean, you didn't expect me to like you, right?" When he didn't reply, the grin started to slip from her face. "Hey, don't take it the wrong way. I like you now, right?" She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, fair's fair. What'd you think of me?"

It didn't take him any thought to find an answer, but he paused before admitting, "That you were totally badass."

"Really?"

She ducked her head slightly, a motion he'd figured out long ago was her way of hiding a smile. "Yeah," he muttered, and she reached out and socked him in the arm. There was real force behind it, which was how he knew she was flattered. "Something else," he prompted. "That you never told me."

"Hmm." She hesitated, before admitting, "I'm sorry you lost your space sword. Seriously."

"It wasn't your fault," he countered. "I threw it."

"Yeah, but you were holding me. With your freaking broken leg and everything, you badass." She smiled weakly. "I never told you how scared I actually was then. That's one, isn't it? I didn't think you would drop me, I mean," she added quickly, "but… I don't think I've ever been that scared."

"Same here," he nodded, and it occurred to him vaguely that this was a conversation about feelings, and yet not as thoroughly awful as he'd imagined they would be. "I thought we were going to die—I was trying so hard not to let go, but… Spirits." He broke off, running a hand across his scalp. Everything had been moving so fast then that he'd thought little about it; the enormity of what had almost happened still sometimes hit him out of nowhere. "The whole time, I was terrified that I would. And I don't knew what I would've done if I had."

"Come on." She nudged him lightly. "You didn't. You wouldn't have." But she could tell when he was slightly thrown, and knew enough to change the subject. "So my turn now, right? How about much fun I had scamming people with you, back when I was the Runaway?"

He allowed her a grin for her effort. "Doesn't count. I already knew that."

She leaned back thoughtfully on her hands, chewing uncertainly on her lip. "Okay," she said at last. "I… never told you about the talk we had after all that—remember? About Katara?" There was a note of anxiety in her voice, and Sokka realized she was genuinely worried he'd forgotten. He nodded encouragingly, knowing she would see it despite the rain. "I… really appreciated that," she mumbled. "I meant all of it."

"I never told you how much I miss my mom," he said softly. "Even then. It… I mean, it didn't seem like the right time," he added lamely.

"I never told you how jealous I am of your family," she blurted, and he started, peering more closely at her. "I mean, not your mom, that's awful, but the rest of you. How close you guys all are. I wish I had that with my parents." She shook her head, attempting a grin. "You're so lucky."

"… Have you _met_ Katara?"

That made her chuckle, and he watched the smile widen across her face, reaching up to her eyes. Making Toph laugh was like striking a match, the smile a sudden flare of light and warmth that you'd never quite expected. "I like your smile," he murmured, and then, in the moment after, dropped his head into his hands. "Damn," he muttered, half-laughing. "That came out kind of stupid, didn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "You been on the cactus juice again?"

"No! Really, I like your smile!" he insisted, and the reward was a wider grin that came with a faint blush. "I said it and I meant it." He drew an 'X' across his heart, smiling. "Now it's your turn to look stupid—compliment me."

"Ooh, tough one," she deadpanned, and he shot her a rueful look, remembering only a moment later that it wouldn't reach her. "Well, I… nah."

"What?"

"No." She was pink now, he noticed, her cheeks darkening even as she spoke. "It's embarrassing."

"Now you have no choice." He shook his head, even as she started to protest. "No. None. No secrets here."

She sighed heavily. "Fine. I… I used to have a crush on you," she mumbled, almost too fast for him to catch it. "A long time ago!" she added hastily. "I mean, way, way long ago. Like, before I knew you that well. And before I met Suki. All that good stuff."

He was laughing, and that only made her blush more, which in turn only made him grin more widely. She buried her face in her hands, groaning, and he smirked. "Victim to the good looks? Or the sense of humor? Can't resist the funny guys, am I right?"

"…Never telling you anything anymore…" he heard from behind her hands. "You jerk. Tell me something now."

He took a deep breath, breathing in and out and putting on a straighter face. "Sorry," he said genuinely. "Okay. I… heh. I do think you're cute when you're blushing, though."

"Cute?"

It would have been a fishhook cast for compliments from most people, but she sounded so surprised he was sure she must be. "Yeah," he answered, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I think you're cute. I never told you that I… thought about what it would be like. If you had still liked me, I mean, and if Suki and I weren't together."

"You wondered about that." She sounded slightly stunned.

"Why not?" He stared out at the road, and the fields beyond, and the clouds that were swelling across the horizon, the whole world running together into liquid in the storm. For some reason, he couldn't look at her as he spoke. "I mean, when you're in a relationship the person's got to be your best friend as well. And… well, you're my best friend, right?" She didn't reply, but it was a careful sort of silence, more like her waiting for him to continue than her ignoring him. "I didn't tell you that I thought about it. If it had been different, who knows what would have happened?"

"I never told you," she said slowly, "that I kind of like you when you're thinking out loud."

He smiled. "I never thought out loud in front of you before?"

"You're usually too busy making stupid jokes." She angled her hand, eyes sparking. "I never told you that sometimes you're actually kind of funny. In between all the stupid, I mean."

"She tells me now," he muttered, watching her grin with a faint thrill of pride. "Figures. I never told you how much I like making you laugh."

"I never told you that… I don't dislike your ponytail."

"You don't?"

"Not entirely."

"I could kiss you," he said seriously, and then leaned suddenly towards her, his eyes widening in disbelief. "_What?_"

Toph reddened, and with skin as pale as hers, it stood out starkly. "What did you say?" Sokka repeated, without even a trace of sarcasm on his face. His eyes gleamed with sharp, insistent curiosity. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

She shook her head mutely, damp hair swishing back and forth like shadows across her cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't say anything."

She turned her face towards him, so he could see, because she knew that was supposed to make a lie more convincing, and then nearly recoiled. He had leant much closer in, and his grin was only inches away. "Really?" he wondered. "You didn't?"

Shakily, she moved her head back and forth. "You're hearing things."

He moved an inch closer, and to her horror, her breath stuck a little in her throat. "I was sure I heard something."

"I…" She swallowed. "Might have said something."

"Like what?"

Where the hell had all the moisture in her mouth gone? Her tongue was as dry as sandpaper. "Like I—'I wish you would'."

"You wish I would _what_?"

She mumbled something too quiet for him to hear. "One more time?" he prompted, his grin spreading wider across his face.

"Kiss me," she blurted, loudly this time, desperate for her voice not to crack, and he bent forward across the last few inches. Her hands fluttered at her sides and then reached, almost nervously, for his cheek, one resting across the back of his neck. After a moment, he stopped and pulled back, and for a moment she was terrified that she had done something wrong—that whatever she had been supposed to do, it wasn't that, and there was no undoing this mistake.

Sokka stared at her, his eyes flickering back and forth between her eyes, her hands, her lips. For a moment, she was a collection of features: the mouth that he had just kissed, that had _asked_ for it, the hands, calloused but surprisingly small, around his neck, the eyes that belonged to his best friend who he couldn't actually have… have…

But he had.

And he found he didn't regret it at all.

"I think I should tell you," he informed her slowly, "that I really enjoyed that."

Her eyebrows rose, because she was still just levelheaded enough to feel his heartbeat thudding through the ground, and he wasn't lying. "I should tell you," she replied, a smile on the edges of her lips, "that I've been waiting a while for that—so you've got to make up for a _lot_ of lost time."

The rain kept falling as he did so.

In the years to come they still kept secrets from each other—little things, trivial things, things they had simply forgotten to mention or never realized the importance of. It would be impossible to tell everything to anyone, and in the end, they both realized that you don't need to know everything about a person to know them perfectly.

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**So it turns out I still have yet to complete a Tokka Week (what with starting a day late last year and missing yesterday.) I'm sorry, guys—a stomach bug messed me up, and writing was a little beyond me...**

**But I made it back in time for the end! Have some fluff as compensation, haha. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and I'm so sorry I couldn't reply to all of you. I appreciate the feedback so much, though, so thanks for getting me through some of the most tiring days of the year ^_^ **

**Now _I_ am off to sleep (having published about two minutes before midnight.) Happy Tokka Week, guys, and thanks for reading!  
**


	76. Struggle

**#21. Struggle**

**(... Lord knows how I haven't used this prompt before...)**

**Short story retitled from my creative writing class, where it was called Multiple Choice. I guess for all intents and purpose, A/U real world, where Toph's not blind.  
**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it... not much has changed in four months hiatus, haha.**

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[_SOKKA __stands outside __TOPH__'s house. It is a cold day, and he is wearing a beaten-up brown coat. In his right hand is a clean, red__ BRICK__. In his left is a LETTER__, crumpled at the edges from being stuffed in his pocket. He hesitates, looking from one to the other._]

_Option A__: He throws the brick._

She is just beginning to pour a cup of coffee when the sound of breaking glass startles her. Her eyes flash from the window to the floor a few feet away, and back again to her front garden.

"Are you _serious_?" she demands, jumping to her feet. "A brick? An actual effing brick, Sokka?"

Through the new hole in the glass she sees him halfway across her yard. He has been trying to run for his car; he cringes when he catches sight of her at the kitchen window, ducking and then remembering where he is, too late starting to run again. It's no good. She picks her way across the linoleum floor, spotted with glass, to the window. "I know it's you," she shouts. "I recognize your car. Sokka! It's Christmas Eve, you asshole!"

At last he turns around, just for a moment. "I'm Jewish."

"That's an excuse?"

"Well, it's not Hanukkah."

She stares at him. The garden shifts in a gust of wind, cold air leaking through the broken window. "I'm calling the police," she shouts.

He takes a step backwards towards his car. Snow is soaking through his boots. "I'm leaving."

"I know your address. They'll arrest you."

"You can't prove it was me." He shuffles a little further away, smearing the snow.

"They'll take fingerprints."

"I'm wearing gloves."

He says it with some pride, having planned that retort. She peers through the hole in the window. "Hey," she says, "didn't I give you those?"

He hasn't planned for that one. "Um. No."

She squints. "Yes I did. Last Christmas."

"Hanukkah."

"Whatever," she huffs, and stares critically at her window. "I mean, seriously? What is this supposed to accomplish?"

He can't tell her—maybe she knows—he'd thought she wouldn't be home, and hates how she's making him feel like the one in the wrong. Well. He is, sort of. It's not like he hasn't thrown a brick at her window, but she still shouldn't be able to play the holier-than-thou card. "This isn't like you at all," she continues matter-of-factly.

"Yes it is. I mean, it could be. You don't know that." He becomes suddenly aware that he's babbling. "Maybe I've changed."

"Clearly, you've changed," she deadpans. "Jesus, Sokka, you would never have done this a year ago."

He stuffs the letter quickly into his coat pocket. "Well, maybe you wouldn't have cheated on me a year ago." He remembers he's supposed to be angry. "Or maybe you would." The word _slut_, which he wants to add, still sticks in his throat. "You tell me."

"Once," she replies. "I told you. I still don't see why you freaked out about it like this."

"But it was _Teo!_" he replies, a familiar lilt in the words, a protest he's made before. "He's always liked you."

She shivers, pulling her dressing gown closer around her shoulders. She wants to see Teo even less than Sokka. "Go home," she calls halfheartedly. "I'm going to call the police."

"I'm going," he retorts, still not moving. She begins to turn away from the window. Her dark hair catching the light makes him stop and swallow hard. "Um. Toph. I'm sorry about the brick."

She doesn't turn. "You'd better be," she snaps. "I could have gotten hurt."

He can only half-see her, and thinks anything else would be better, to at least see her clearly, narrowed eyes and hands on hips, or not to see her at all; anything but picturing her, model-disdainful, faintly unimpressed with him as always. He wishes he could tell her that then at least they'd be even, since she hurt him first. He wishes he wasn't supposed to cut his losses now and get over it, and that he could hurt back, just once. Nothing's stopping him except the way her hair catches the light, and how much he misses the sound of her laugh.

"I know," he says instead. "I'm sorry."

"You said." She waits long enough, she hopes, for him to start to walk before she turns back to the window. A moment flitters by as she eyes the toothy, jagged edges. "Hey," she calls. "Sokka!"

He jumps. "Yeah?"

"Get in here and clean up the effing glass."

"Seriously?"

"I don't know how to fix the window," she says, and he hears in her voice the expectation that he will. "It's the least you could do."

She lets him in through the garage, reminding him to take off his shoes, and makes fresh coffee for both of them while he works. Nobody mentions Teo, and there have been worse Christmas Eves for both of them.

_Option B__: He gives her the letter_.

She is just beginning to pour a cup of coffee when the sound of the doorbell ringing startles her. She cranes her neck towards the window, but can't see anyone in the yard. She sets down the mug and shuffles to the front door. The letter is waiting on her doorstep when she opens it. It just says 'Toph' on the front, but she recognizes his handwriting.

She looks up again, gaze scouring the street, and this time recognizes the beaten-up Toyota one house down. Staring at the dark window, she narrows her eyes and tears the envelope in two, dropping it on the doorstep. It falls in a slushy footprint, the last couple traces that he was there, and begins to stain brown. The door slams shut, and in the ensuing silence, the ink begins to leak and blur until her name is illegible.

He takes the car out of park and begins to drive away. She calls Teo later that day, but doesn't really want him to spend the night. She doesn't let herself wonder what the letter said.

There have still been worse Christmases.

_Option C__: Neither of the above._

He looks at her house for a long moment, turning the brick over in his hand. At last he puts the letter back in his pocket and goes back to his car.

* * *

**Three things: yes, I'm back, and there's no excuse for four months so I won't even try (yes, I've been counting. It's killing me) and in other news, my early New Year's resolution is to finish what I started (because who stops at 75 of 100?) I do need to thank everyone who PM'd me after I went MIA and apologize if I didn't reply, because I'm extraordinarily awful at that. _A Goat_ and _LainyLovesYou_ especially, who sent me amazing messages that I never got a chance to answer. Thank you so much, guys.  
**

**So. Yeah. I'm not exactly going to be surprised to see if anyone's unsubscribed, but if you guys are still there, it'd be great to hear from you so I know. **

**There'll be another one up a lot sooner this time :)**

**—skrybble**


	77. Foundation

**#100. Foundation**

**I really wonder who came up with some of these prompts...  
**

**So the background: this takes place right after the episode where Azula and co. chase the Gaang and don't let them sleep for a few days, and Toph and Katara catfight, and then it all gets resolved somehow and they take naps. More or less. Point is, Toph and Sokka don't really know each other yet.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own A:tLA.  
**

* * *

He never fell asleep quickly, contrary to popular belief. He liked sleeping, and hated waking up, but he was awake later than the other two more often than not. It was hard to stop feeling like he should be watching out for Katara and Aang, and sometimes he thought that it was easiest to do that when they were asleep. It wasn't easy to compete with them in fighting, but this was a little way for him to watch out for them, do the whole big-brother thing. Of course, they told him to get over himself, but it made him feel better to lie awake a little while in his sleeping bag, just until Aang and Katara fell quiet. It had nothing to do with sleeping outside or new bruises or being hungry, most of the time—just that this felt like making a difference.

Now, it wasn't that he mistrusted this new addition to the group. He got, of course, that she could kick his ass in theory, but she was still a little girl. There was a limit, he felt, to how scared he could really be of her.

He didn't know her very well yet.

Really, he wasn't paying her much attention; he hadn't so far. There seemed little to know. She was a brilliant bender, and she was loud but standoffish, and she was blind so he was certainly going to say something stupid and insensitive to her at some point. Likely, many somethings. These were the things he knew about her.

He didn't yet know she had nightmares.

He heard her shifting in her sleep, and then a hitch in her breathing, giving way to a strange, snuffling sound. She still slept in a rock lean-to, a few yards from the rest of them, and it made it almost impossible to tell if she was asleep or not. Sokka paused, not sure if this was the part where he spoke or shut up, as he heard the scrape of blankets against the dirt. A moment later, Toph poked her head out of the tent. She looked paler than usual, and was dragging a thin, ratty blanket behind her. He cleared his throat.

"Toph?"

She yelped and clutched at the blanket, and he sat up quickly. "Me," he blurted. "Just me. Sokka. It's okay."

"Right. Yeah." She pressed a hand against her mouth, her cheeks slightly red. It might have just been the firelight. "Course. Sorry if I woke you or something."

"I was still awake." He wriggled out of his sleeping bag, clambering to his feet. "You okay?"

"Fine." She ducked her head a little, swiping at her eyes. Those looked reddish too, and Sokka didn't think that was a trick of the light. "Just… having trouble sleeping."

"How come?"

"Nothing. I just can't." Toph dropped down onto the ground by the fire, folding her feet under the blanket. The fire had decayed to embers, moldering red under the ashes. She held out her hands for warmth, reaching awkwardly forward in the general direction of the fire pit. "Is the fire still there?" she asked, after a moment, and he got it.

"It's burnt down. There's not much left."

"Damn," she said, and drew her hands back, reaching for the blanket. Sokka frowned.

"So you can't see...?"

"Fire. No. It doesn't give off vibrations, right?" Sokka nodded quickly and then broke off, shaking his head. She sighed in a pained sort of way. "I see, just not with my 's not that complicated."

"Right," he muttered—which meant, _yes it is, and I'm not going to get it—_and shuffled over, taking a seat a couple feet away from her. "As long as I don't have to help you cross the road or something."

"I'll hit you if you try."

From what little of her he'd seen already, he still knew she meant it. "Got it. No helping." He paused, leaning back on his hands. "So, you gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"_No_."

"Homesick?" he prodded, pretending not to have heard. "Miss the family? Or just sleeping in a real bed?" Her face folded into a scowl. "Okay, no. Afraid of the woods at night? Scared of the… no," he amended quickly, "probably not scared of the dark, right?"

She nearly smiled, and he took it as encouragement. "Come on," he wheedled. "Everyone has bad dreams sometimes. What's up?"

Toph's hands tightened on the blanket, stretching it her shoulders. Curled up, she was smaller than Sokka had thought when he first saw her—or maybe he'd never really looked at her carefully before. It was much easier to see the Blind Bandit, less so the Bei Fong heiress. Spirits, he thought with surprise, she'd probably never been camping in her life.

He looked closer. Her eyes were still rimmed red, and the circles under them from days without sleep seemed even darker at night. Her hair was unkempt, stray clumps falling lopsided across her face. The bun she'd try to put it in was falling apart, and she didn't even seem to know how to tie it back by herself.

"They would have killed us, wouldn't they?"

He started slightly. "What?"

"Those girls. The ones who were chasing us. The creepy one," she added, and Sokka remembered the gray, narrowed eyes, the two fingers brandished like a knife, the girl with lightning at her fingertips. Azula was his age, Sokka thought, certainly no older, but the look in her eyes hadn't been a kid's. "She would have killed us," Toph persisted. "Wouldn't she?"

He stared at her. Her face was downturned, and as he watched she scuffed her feet against the dirt. She looked too sorry to lie to, and too little to hear the truth.

"Probably," he said, and then, "yes. Well… yes."

"Does that scare you?"

He laughed weakly, because some things you had to laugh at. "Shitless."

"So… what do you do?"

That was a stupid question. Neither of them knew until later how stupid it had been. You couldn't do anything, after a point. You carried on; you stayed alive. You didn't think too hard about any of it. You had bad dreams sometimes, and they made you remember you'd been scared, and you went and sat by the fire to remind yourself that there were still warm places and blankets and quiet left, enough to get by on.

"You keep going," he replied, and it was the best he could do. "It isn't scary after a while."

"I can tell that you're lying."

_Ah. That. Damn. _"Fine," he snapped. "It's never _not_ scary. Did you think it would be fun?" His eyes narrowed. "Would you rather go home, or what? Say so, if you do."

"Don't be stupid," she growled. "I can't."

"Don't be stuck-up," he shot back. "You might be good, but you're not the only earthbender in the Nation."

Her hands balled into fists on the blanket; her face tightened. "I'm not stuck-up," she retorted. "No other earthbender can do what I can. But that's not what I'm talking about." She wasn't loud at all, her voice a soft hiss against the occasional crackle of embers, but it carried straight through the dark. "There are Fire Nation people following us, and they know we came from Gaoling. If I go back, the whole town's in danger." She leaned closer to the dying fire; in the dim orange light, he saw her lip curl. "I'm not here for Twinkletoes. What I've seen, I don't even know if that kid can fight a Fire Lord. I just couldn't go back if I wanted."

"You want to?"

She paused, and the sneer on her lips grew more defined. "Spirits, no," she huffed, and her mouth twisted into what could, with some poetic license, almost be called a smile. Back then, Sokka could count the grins he'd seen from her on one hand, but none of them had looked quite so daunting, or so real, as this one. "You couldn't get me back in Gaoling if you paid me."

On a Wednesday a few weeks after Sozin's comet, riding with an honor guard that Zuko had commissioned her, she returned to Gaoling. When she arrived at her parents' house, she was invited inside and, stepping through the large door, burst abruptly into tears. The incident was never again mentioned by any of the witnesses, not even Sokka.

But that was years away, and for now he chuckled softly. "You're full of shit," he said, and so far, it was his most accurate assessment of her. She snorted and stood up, drawing the blanket closer.

"Whatever," she replied. "I'm going to bed."

"Try not to get too scared," he called, without looking back at her. "I'd like to get some sleep."

From within her tent, he heard a laugh. "Try not to snore too much—so would I."

He grumbled a retort under his breath, kicking dirt on the embers as he stood up and trying not to smile, and went back to his sleeping mat. He waited, then, and only when her breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm did he allow himself to fall asleep.

* * *

**Seventy-seven down, twenty-three to go ^_^**** Have a good last few days of 2011!  
**


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